A Life in the Darkness
by PrincessO'Rourke
Summary: After the Battle over Little Whinging, Molly needs some further comfort. Arthur obliges, causing some unintended consequences that will affect not only the Weasley family, but their future as well. Follows events in DH...
1. Weasleys After Whinging

The Battle over Little Whinging had been a difficult one. Mad-Eye Moody had been lost, a Killing Curse struck mid-flight as the Order transported Harry from Privet Drive to the Burrow. George Weasley barely avoided death himself and, as it stood, had been maimed, his ear sacrificed to a dark spell cast by a Death Eater. The losses weighed heavily on everyone, and after a few hours rest at the Weasley home, they departed for their various safe houses and duties, praying for a swift end to the war in which they now lived.

That night, as Arthur bade goodbye to the last Order member, he glanced up at his bedroom window where his wife sat, staring out into the swamp at the thunderstorm brewing in the distance.

He sighed.

The only times Molly sat staring like that was when she was upset, and between everything that had happened that evening, and nearly all evenings in recent memory, she had good reason to be feeling poorly.

Bowing his head, he slowly climbed the stairs, feeling decades older than his 46 years. After several of the rickety flights, he came to his bedroom at the top of the house and opened the door. Molly whipped around, instinctively drawing her wand to direct at his heart, promptly dropping it and bursting into tears when she realized what she had done.

Arthur rushed to her side at the window seat, taking her in his arms and holding her tight as she cried, marveling at how, even after nearly 30 years of marriage, she still managed to fit so perfectly against him, her head finding its way into the crook of his neck, her once copper-hair, now lighter and flecked with gray, brushed against his cheek and tickled him in a comforting sort of way.

"Oh, Arthur," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry. I just—I thought—I can't do this anymore."

"Shhh," he whispered back, rocking her back and forth, "there now. You're the strongest woman I've ever met. Just what is it that you can't do?"

She pushed him away, getting more upset.

"This, Arthur!" she yelled, gesturing down to her hands, the nail beds still stained an angry red with the blood from George's ear wound. "I can't do this! I can't deal with the bloodshed anymore! Not of my friends, not of my children! Not anymore, not again!"

Arthur looked down sadly. "Mollywobbles…"

"Don't!" she interrupted. "Don't Mollywobbles me, Arthur! Our boy almost died tonight! Alastor did! Who's it going to be next, Arthur? Ron next time? Fred? Ginny?"

"No! No it won't!" Arthur replied, standing, his voice raised to match his wife's, secretly hoping she'd applied a silencing charm to the room before the conversation began. "I won't let it!"

Molly stood up too, angrily removing her blood soaked apron and thrusting it at his chest. "Can you promise me that? Can you promise that I won't have to wear my children's blood on my hands tomorrow? Or the next day?Or the next? Can you promise they won't end up like Fabian and Gideon?"

"No, alright!" Arthur shouted, his emotions boiling over at the mention of Molly's late brothers, his best friends, slain during the First War all those years ago. "I can't promise that! You know that! I'm a wizard, Molly, not a psychic, not a God, just a bloke with a wand!"

Molly dropped to the bed, her fair skin even paler.

"You can't ask that of me. It isn't fair," he continued, quieter.

"I know," she muttered, closing her eyes, refusing to look at him, too tired to argue.

He sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around her again.

"I can only swear to do the best I can. For you, for the children, for everyone."

"I know," she repeated, the tears once again threatening to spill, "I just feel so paralyzed. Like I can't protect them. They're my babies, Arthur. Harry, too."

Leaning back, Arthur smiled sadly, taking her chin in his hand. "I know you're scared. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. I don't know what tomorrow may bring, what we'll have to do. But for now, in this moment, here with you and I, we're safe. We're warm. We're together."

He brushed a stray lock of ginger hair back behind her ears. She blushed, eyes downcast, as he kissed her. It was tentative, gentle, like the first time, all those years ago, and Molly smiled softly at the memory.

"Oh, Arthur, I love…"

She returned the kiss, more urgent this time, and sighed as she felt his hand brush her thigh.

"I love you, too, Molly Weasley."

As the lamplight slowly dimmed and the rainstorm broke out over the Burrow, Molly and Arthur reacquainted themselves with an act with which they were intimately familiar, and for the first time in a long while, Molly had never felt safer… entwined in her husband's arms.


	2. Tea & Tonks

The next few days were a flutter of activity, rushing around to ready the home and family for Bill and Fleur's upcoming nuptials. With all the cooking, cleaning, dress-making, even with the help of magic, Molly barely stopped for the better part of a week, which thankfully took her mind off her fears.

Then came the fiasco of the wedding itself, what with Kingsley's Patronus bursting in, followed not long after by the Death Eater ambush, ending with the escape and subsequent loss of contact of Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Soon after, Ginny had to return to Hogwarts, and though it pained her to wave goodbye to her youngest child and only daughter in such dangerous times, Molly knew she must, in order to avoid suspicion.

Once again, her family fractured, Molly despaired, forcing her ill-thoughts aside and throwing herself into household chores, purposely exhausting herself by doing things through entirely Muggle means, if only to welcome tired, dreamless sleep at the end of the day, sleep where Voldemort did not lurk around every dark corner, sleep where dark magic was only a distant memory, sleep where her children could still be children.

As the weeks passed, Molly's emotions began to bubble over to the surface. The slightest thing would make her burst into tears, and during arguments with Arthur (which now seemed to be happening with more and more regularity) she would grow so angry she lost control of her magic, casting the odd accidental hex on the nearest teacup or pillow, sending things shattering or bursting into flame. Even more upsetting, though, was the fact that her worry was beginning to manifest in physical illness, as Molly occasionally began to fight bouts of nausea or headaches. Though it worried Arthur intensely, and though he desperately wanted to offer more comfort, he was at a loss about what to do, and eventually began to attempt to ignore it.

One evening, however, little more than a month after the wedding, Molly was home alone, yet again, when she heard a knock at the door. Tensely, she drew her wand, creeping back behind the settee for protection should the occasion require it.

"Wh-who's there?"

"It's Tonks," a friendly voice called out. "Verify me."

Molly relaxed a little, giving a small smile. "What did I give you as a gift last Christmas?"

There was a pause, then a small giggle. "A jumper made from enchanted yarn that changed color to match my hair."

"And why don't you ever wear it, Nymphadora?" Molly laughed, unlatching the door with a flick of her wand.

"Because it's bloody well itchy," Tonks replied as she entered, stumbling over the threshhold. "And I'll thank you to not call me Nymphadora, please. I've got to verify you now. Umm… What nickname did you and Ginny give Fleur when you first found out about the engagement?"

Molly rolled her eyes, still laughing. Leave it to Tonks, sweet, funny Tonks, to cheer her up, at least for the moment.

"It was Phlegm, but, I have to say, for the record, that was all Ginny's doing. I never actually called her that. She's a lovely girl once you get to know her."

Tonks lowered her wand and took the older witch in a friendly hug before striding over to the kitchen table, taking a seat near a tray of cooling fudge. "You just keep telling yourself, Mols. She's a bit too, well, hoity-toity for my taste, but I guess she's nice enough."

Molly smirked.

"Can I make you a cup of tea?"

Tonks shook her head, biting her lip nervously. "No, thanks. I—uh—I actually have something I want to talk to you about. I—I need some advice."

"Why, of course, Dear," Molly replied, sitting down next to her. "You know you can talk to me about anything. You're practically family."

Tonks smiled, visibly relieved, but tensed up just as quickly, her pink hair turning to a dark maroon as she blushed. "Thanks. Okay… well… it's like this. I don't know if you heard me talking about it before, but, well, right around the time of the wedding, Remus and I, we, uh, had some news for Harry, and, um, we weren't entirely certain then, but I just…"

"Relax," the older witch soothed, laying a gentle hand on Tonks' arm.

"I'm pregnant," Tonks blurted quickly, her hair flashing several colors before settling back to normal.

Molly shrieked happily, her troubles forgotten for the moment, as she embraced her friend. "That's wonderful, 'Dora! You had me scared for a second! Amazing news!"

Tonks sighed happily.

"How far along? When are you due?" asked Molly excitedly.

"That's actually what I came to talk to you about," Tonks replied. "I have a general idea, but I don't exactly know. I was hoping you could help me with that."

Molly looked confused. "Help you? What do you mean? You can't exactly just pick your own time, now can you? Didn't your healer give you the details?"

"That's the thing," replied Tonks. "I don't exactly have a healer. With security surrounding the Order so tightly and the Ministry breathing down our necks about everything and no assurance information won't fall into the wrong hands, I can't exactly walk right into St Mungo's, can I?"

"No, I suppose you're right," Molly agreed.

Her friend chuckled. "You know, Remus even made me pop out to Muggle London for one of their pregnancy tests to confirm it because he thought it'd be safer."

This time Molly laughed. "A Muggle pregnancy test? I can't even imagine what that was like."

"It was really weird. I don't understand it in the slightest how it's supposed to work. Remus said it was with something called hor-monies."

"That sounds ridiculous," giggled Molly.

She leaned in conspiratorially. "Tell me, though. How do the Muggles do it?"

"Well," Tonks started, "there's this little white stick. You take it out of the box and you bring it into the loo with you, and then—"

She blushed again furiously, whispering the rest into Molly's ear.

Molly's eyes widened. "You WHAT? You did that? Oh, Merlin, that's disgusting!"

Tonks nodded, looking slightly guilty. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I can't rely on Muggle healthcare during my pregnancy, and I remembered Remus telling me once how before you got married, you were training as a healer, not to mention the fact that you've had seven of your own, well… I was wondering, you know, if _you_ might serve as my healer."

"Me?" Molly asked, shocked. "I'm flattered, Nymphadora, really I am. I just—I don't know what to say."

"Say, yes," Tonks replied simply. "Please, Molly. With things the way they are at the moment, you're the only one I can really trust to help me."

There was a long pause.

"And whatever I tell you, you'll listen?" Molly asked.

"To the letter, I swear."

"And if I decide down the line you need someone better qualified?"

"Then I'll Apparate over to St Mungo's Maternity in an instant."

"Well…" Molly sighed. "Alright, then. I'll do it."

Now it was Tonks' turn to get excited. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't tell you what a relief that is!"

The other woman smirked. "For you, maybe."

"So," Tonks said after a moment, "When do we start?"

"Why not right now?" asked Molly. "Just let me go upstairs to get my old medical book. It's been years since I've done any of this, so we best do it by the book."

She Apparated from the room with a quiet pop. While she was gone, Tonks reached into her pocket, pulling out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, spilling them about the table as Molly popped back in a moment later, book in hand.

"Here we are," Molly said good-naturedly, noticing the mess. "Oh, are those Botts Beans? Can I have some?"

"Go ahead," Tonks replied. "And I even figured out a way to keep from getting any of the dodgy ones. _Accio_, cherry."

Several crimson-colored beans flew toward her open palm, which she then popped into her mouth with a smile.

"You summon them?" Molly asked. "That's genius. I never thought to do that before. Let me try. _Accio_… spinach."

"Spinach? Molly, are you barmy?"

Molly laughed. "Well, I'm not much for sweets usually, and lately, I've been eating vegetables like nobody's business. Did you look at the garden on your way in? It looks like the rabbits got to it."

They chuckled.

"Well, now," sighed Molly. "Let's get started, then. I've never actually done this sort of thing for someone before, so I'm just going to go through all the questions as they're written in the book, and then we'll do the test and I can tell you the proper Witch way that you're pregnant, and when you're due. Okay?"

"Sounds good," Tonks agreed, scooping up another handful of candies.

"Alright, then," Molly began, settling down to read the questions. "How long ago did you have your last…"

She blushed nearly as red as her hair, unable to continue.

"What?" asked Tonks, but after a moment, she realized where Molly was going. "Oh, that. Uh, about 9 weeks ago, I think, give or take."

Molly recorded it in the margin, moving on to the next question.

"Have you experienced mood swings, including displays of sadness, anger, elation, giddiness, et cetera?"

Tonks laughed. "Just ask Remus."

Molly smiled, recording this answer as well, but raised an eyebrow at the next question.

"Have you had any desire or aversion to any out-of-the-ordinary foods unusual for your normal palate, particularly resulting in nausea or vomiting?"

"Well, I haven't been raiding the vegetable patch like you, Mols," replied Tonks, "but last week I did find myself asking Remus to go out and pick us up some steaks. I'm normally not much of a red-meat eater, but I had this craving, you know? Maybe Remus passed on some of that wolf gene."

She chuckled nervously, not noticing that Molly did not join her.

"Alright, uh, have you—have you experienced any uncontrolled manifestations of magic, usually accompanied by extreme changes in mood?" she asked the young witch, then to herself muttered, "Oh, Merlin!"

Not hearing the last bit, Tonks smiled. "Now that you mention it, yes. The other day, I got so annoyed with Remus at something, and somehow, I managed to shatter the sugar bowl. Must have been putting off spells for two, huh?"

Molly nodded absentmindedly, staring intently at the page, a worried and bewildered look creeping across her face.

"Molly?"

Tonks' voice brought her out of her reverie.

"Is everything okay, Molly?"

She nodded slowly. "It's just… nothing. It's fine. Now, if you'll just stand up and lift your blouse, please? I'm just going to touch my wand to your stomach. If it glows pink, you're expecting, which, we sort of already know. After that, I'll touch it again, and if I've done it correctly, we should see the number of weeks along you are. Simple enough?"

Tonks nodded, barely able to contain her excitement.

Molly drew her wand and tapped the woman's flat stomach lightly. After a moment, a soft pink light emanated from the spot, filling her entire abdomen with a warm rosy color, bringing a smile to both ladies' faces. Again, the wand tapped softly. Another moment went by, and a silvery 11 snaked out from Tonks' navel.

"Eleven weeks!" Tonks shrieked happily, breaking the spell, and threw her arms happily around the older woman, who, returned a more subdued celebration.

"Oh, Molly," she shouted excitedly, beginning to babble, "Thank you so much! I mean, I know I knew, but now I really know, you know?"

"I think I know," chuckled Molly. "Now, you go on and get out of here. Go tell the official news to your husband. And on the way home, pop 'round to Flourish and Blotts and pick up a couple of books on pregnancy. They'll be immensely helpful."

Tonks nodded. "Alright, I will. Thank you so much, Molly. You've been so wonderful."

"Anything for a friend," Molly smiled.

"See you next week then?"

Molly nodded, giving a small wave as Tonks Apparated out with a crack.

Finally alone, she sat back down, chewing on her lip nervously, reading and rereading the healer's manual on pregnancy, her already fair skin growing paler and paler each time. Shaking, she sat back in her chair and fumbled with the buttons on the lower half of her cardigan and blouse, the soft, white skin of her belly coming into view. Hands quivering, she drew forth her wand again, and with a silent prayer, tapped it twice to her navel.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then, slowly, but surely, a pink light glowed from her abdomen, quickly followed by the same spidery silver number, only this time, it read 5.

"Oh, damn," she whispered to no one, and, for what seemed like the millionth time that week, Molly Weasley began to cry.


	3. Oh, Arthur

When Arthur came home a few hours later, he was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. The kitchen tap was running, sink nearly overflowing, and the pan that had been left to magically scour was almost rubbed clean through by a still-enchanted steel wool pad. Over at the stove, the acrid stench of burnt stew assaulted his nostrils. He drew his wand, and with a few quick sweeps, righted the mess, then carefully proceeded into the sitting room where he found another forgotten flurry of activity. Not one, but three sets of knitting needles click-clacked away, their owner unseen, and a broom sweeping the old wooden floors was working so hard that it was in danger of damaging their finish.

Still, there was no sign of Molly.

Worried for his wife's welfare, Arthur glanced at the family clock, relieved when he saw his wife's picture pointed toward "home". At that moment, he heard a muffled noise from upstairs. Quietly, he ascended the steps, wand still at the ready in case of trouble, and turned towards the bathroom, where the sound seemed to be coming from. Slowly, and tensely, he opened the door, not quite sure what he might find, and his shoulders sagged with a mixture of relief and sadness at what he found.

Molly was sitting on the floor, leaning up against the bathtub, knees drawn up to her chest, staring off into nothing, the look on her face one of utter defeat.

"Molly, Dear?" he asked gently.

No answer.

"M-Molly?" he asked again, louder this time.

"Yes, Arthur, it's me," she sighed, still staring off into space, her words, while monotonous, seemed to hold a trace of annoyance. "You don't need to verify me, but if you simply must, we were married at St Hubbins Church in Tinsworth, my middle name is Ophelia, and no matter how much I like them, I can never cook prawns because you are allergic. Good enough?"

He sighed. "Molly, what is it? What's wrong? What are you doing up here like this?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied numbly. "I'm fine. Just go downstairs and have some supper. I'll be down in a moment. There's some stew on the stove."

"Not anymore," he admitted quietly. "It was burnt, so I got rid of it."

The mention of burnt food sent a wave of nausea through her and she was grateful the toilet was well within reach.

"Oh, Mollywobbles, what is it? Are you alright?"

Molly shook her head, refusing to look at him, and tears began to slowly slide down her plump cheeks.

"What are we going to do?"

Arthur sighed again, taking a seat beside her on the floor, and wrapped a comforting arm around her.

"There, now," he whispered, stroking her cheek gently. "It's just a bit of soup. Nothing to cry over."

She turned her head, angling her body away from his touch. "It's not that."

"Then what—" he began, confused.

"Arthur, I'm pregnant."

The silence that fell between them lasted an eternity.

"You're what?"

"You heard me." The edge had returned to her voice as she wiped the last of her tears away. "Expecting, in the family way, with child, whatever you want to call it, Arthur, I'm having a baby."

"But how?" He looked dumbfounded. "When could this have happened? I thought we were past all that."

"When?" She laughed bitterly. "Remember the night of the Little Whinging flight? When I was upset? Well, apparently the only way you know how to comfort a person is with your clothes off! I thought I was past my time, too, but I guess not. It's unusual, but still possible. The bigger issue is what are we going to do about it?"

"Do?" asked Arthur, looking concerned. "What do you mean 'do'? We're having a baby. There's nothing to 'do' but let nature take its course."

Molly started to get angry again. "How are we supposed to bring up a child at our age, Arthur? With our income? In the middle of a war? Can you tell me that? Especially with you gone so much of the time?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to get angry. "You want to know why I'm gone so much of the time? So the Death Eaters don't find their way to our doorstep, into our homes, destroy us, Molly! Now, I'm sorry that this is happening like this, but I love you, and I'm going to love this baby, and we'll find some way to make this work!"

Another silence filled the room.

"Do you not want this baby?" Arthur finally muttered, not sure whether or not he wanted to hear her answer.

Molly closed her eyes and shrugged. "No—yes—I don't… I mean, we've had seven, Arthur. All our wonderful boys and then Ginny. They're all grown now. Bill and Fleur will be making us grandparents before we know it. I just—I thought our family was complete. I was supposed to be finished with that part of my life. I was just getting used to being alone, to not being needed."

"Oh, Molly," Arthur breathed, tentatively wrapping an arm around her once again. "You're so wrong. They may be grown, but all the kids need you. I need you. That'll never change."

She nodded tearfully. "Maybe that's so, but what about the times, Arthur? We're in the middle of a war."

"We were in the middle of a war when the others were born and we managed just fine," Arthur pointed out.

Molly sighed again. "But we're not as young as we used to be. We're not meant to be parents at our age, Arthur. I know several women younger than me who have grandkids already. How will it look?"

"Like a right fit little witch," Arthur smiled, brushing a red curl off her face. "Since when has Molly Prewitt ever given a whit about appearances? Aren't you the girl who turned down dozens of rich, pureblood suitors to marry the red-headed prat from your Transfiguration class?"

She gave a small smile, leaning her head on his shoulder companionably as she deadpanned, "Yes… and I've regretted it ever since."

"Cheeky git", he joked, digging his hands into her sides to tickle her for her insubordination.

She shrieked with laughter, and he joined her, and for the moment, all troubles were forgotten. As they slowly came down from their peals of giggling, yet another silence came over them, but this one was different, more comfortable, less deafening. A few moments later, Molly spoke.

"Do you really think we can do this, Arthur?" she asked quietly, a trace of hope behind her voice.

He smiled, touching his forehead to hers. "I think we can do anything, Molly, as long as we do it together."


	4. Reminiscing and Revelations

_**Thanks for all of the kind words in your reviews. The encouragement really means a lot and truly fuels me to continue with this story. Please, after you read, if you are able, review.**_

Later that evening, the fire in the hearth dimmed to a few stray burning embers and the containers from the Muggle take-away Arthur had run out to for a replacement supper, Molly and Arthur cozied up on the sofa like they used to do in the early days of their marriage, she curled up against the arm, knees tucked underneath her and he lying flat, his head resting on her lap. He smiled up at her, glancing every so often at her stomach, thinking about the life she held within her. She stared off into space, absentmindedly playing with his thinning hair, softly sighing.

"How'd you figure out you were pregnant this time?" he asked suddenly, his fingers tracing soft circles on her abdomen. "I mean, it can't have been the first thing that went through your mind."

"That's for damn sure," she chuckled in reply. "Actually, I had a visit from Tonks today. She suspected that she might be pregnant as well."

Arthur glanced up, surprised. "Tonks? Pregnant? You're kidding."

"No, I'm not," Molly smiled down at him, "but you've got to keep it to yourself until she and Remus decide to tell people. I'm not certain many people know yet. That's what she came to see me about. She was nervous and wanted a bit of confirmation so she asked me to be her Healer."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Arthur Weasley," she giggled. "I was going to be the most famous medi-witch in the wizarding world once upon a time. I've had seven children. I'm not exactly in foreign territory, am I?"

"Very true," he conceded. "Anyway, though, how did Tonks' pregnancy make you realize yours?"

"I got out one of my old medical books and with each of the examination questions I asked, it just sort of dawned on me. As soon as she left, I did the spells on myself and, bam, there you are. Five weeks along. Due around May, I suppose."

"I still can't believe it," Arthur sighed happily. "Another baby."

"Tell me about it when I'm the one with the swollen ankles and crippling back pain," Molly smirked in reply.

They laughed.

"Do you remember how you told me we were expecting Bill?" he asked.

Molly smiled. "How can I forget? You were trying to play footsie during our commencement exercises in the middle of Dumbledore's closing speech and I panicked. Just dashed it off with a whisper into your ear. I'd only found out that morning."

"Had you?"

"Well, I'd been sick every morning for a week and the night before graduation, I snuck into the library and nicked a book that had maternity spells in it."

Arthur laughed. "How'd you manage that?"

"Well," she replied primly, "as Head Girl, I had a perfect right to patrol the halls and rooms of the school for any, ahem, 'suspicious activity'."

"If I recall," Arthur replied cheekily, "it was your insistence of patrolling that may have led to our little bundle of joy in the first place."

Molly tried to look innocent, not succeeding very well. "I couldn't help it that I was assigned the seventh floor corridor that evening. I didn't even know the Room of Requirement existed before that night. I was merely pacing the hallway, bored out of my mind and thinking about how much I needed a good shag. Then I saw the door just appear out of nowhere. I went in, saw the bed and champagne and candlelight, and just had to Summon you."

"I had no idea up to that point that Accio could be used on a person," he smirked.

"I don't recall you protesting," she teased. "And our little rendezvous could have been kept a perfect secret until I started throwing up three weeks later. I was terrified."

"Not half as terrified as I was," he chuckled. "Thank Merlin we were to be married two weeks later anyway so no one seemed to notice that we…"

"'Slipped a quaffle past the Keeper'?" Molly supplied helpfully.

The laughed heartily.

"What do you think this one will be?" Molly asked. "Another boy?"

In her mind's eye, she imagined their future child. A little boy whisking around the yard on a toy broom playing quidditch with his brothers, a Chudley Cannons cap perched on his youthful curls. Tea parties and rag dolls and pet pygmy puffs with a giggling little girl in the back garden.

"Knowing our history, probably," Arthur chuckled. "A red-head is one thing we can be sure of, though."

"It'll be nice to have another little boy around the house again," Molly admitted. "If it is, I hope he looks like you."

"I wouldn't mind another little girl," murmured Arthur, "A little princess to spoil, with mahogany eyes and ginger hair to match her mother's."

Molly smiled, blushing at the compliment, continuing to daydream.

"I'm sorry I got so upset before, Arthur," she said quietly, after a few minutes. "It was just, you know, a shock. I was just scared—still am, actually. Between my age and everything that's going on out there—"

She gestured toward the window opposite.

"—there's a lot that can happen."

He sat up, turning to face her, and pressed a gentle palm against her cheek. "Molly, my Mollywobbles, I have known you since we were eleven years old. You've survived cruel teachers, closed-minded parents, war, and seven children with little money and even less help. I've seen you through duels, dances, diaper changes, seven kids with dragon pox, not to mention every prank and novelty Fred and George ever created. You will be just fine."

Molly smiled, placing her hand over his. "I just—I need you to know, that no matter what I might have said or how I seemed before, I am happy about this child, Arthur. The circumstances aren't the best, but I do want this baby. I just didn't know it until I got it."

He kissed her, softly, gently, his other hand moving to her stomach, protecting the treasure it held. Molly shifted, turning her body to sit across her husband's lap to allow him better access, never breaking the kiss. He groaned appreciatively, and once again his hands began to roam. She giggled, feeling like a schoolgirl again, squirming under her husband's gentle caresses. Finally, out of air, she broke the kiss.

"Arthur," she murmured, eyes closed happily as he nuzzled into her neck. "Artiebear, as much fun as I think this is, I don't think this is the time or place, to, uh—"

"Hide the Hippogriff?" he supplied cheekily, pressing kisses into her collarbone. "I don't see why we can't. We're alone, we're in love, and my best girl just told me she was having my baby. I think that's a cause for celebration, don't you?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes," Molly giggled as his lips tickled her flesh, "but aren't you forgetting the twins are coming home tonight? They had some sort of product experiment go wrong and Aunt Muriel's furious. She kicked them out until all the repairs are finished. They've got to stay with us until it's fixed."

"Bloody kids," he growled lustily, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, which she happily returned, before suddenly pushing him away, a worried expression capturing her features.

"Oh, Arthur, I just thought if it," she said, biting her lip. "How are we going to tell the children?"

"Well, Charlie and Bill will be easy," Arthur replied. "They're two of the most easygoing people I've ever met. An owl for Charlie will do just fine, and we can tell Bill when he and Fleur come to dinner Sunday evening. They'll be thrilled, I know."

"There's no way to tell Ron," she admitted, her voice barely catching in her throat. "We've no way."

"He'll be back before you know it," reassured Arthur, who was reassuring himself just as much, it seemed.

"We'll have to think of a way to tell Ginny somehow," Molly sighed, "but we can't really send her regular owls in case they get intercepted."

Arthur nodded.

"And as for Percy…" he trailed off.

Molly sighed. The pain of their estrangement, though not new, still stung.

"I know things aren't the best right now," she said diplomatically, "but he is still our son and has a right to know about any future siblings he may have."

"Well…"

"Arthur, just stop by his office or send a memo or something. Please. Please do this for me," Molly asked, her eyes welling up.

He nodded begrudgingly.

Molly tightened the grip of her arms around his neck and kissed him again, happy at his acceptance of her request.

At that moment, Fred and George Apparated in with a pop, causing their mother to shriek and nearly fall from her place on Arthur's lap.

"Well, well, well," George started.

Fred picked right up. "What do we have here?"

"Mum and Dad in for an evening snog, eh?"

"Whatever will we do with you two lovebirds?"

Molly scrambled to climb off her husband's lap, losing her balance and falling hard on her rump in the process. Fred and George screamed with laughter.

"You boys!" she thundered as Arthur hastened to help her up.

"Darling," he called, alarmed, as he placed a protective hand over her stomach and one at the small of her back, aiding her in rising, "are you alright, Mollywobbles?"

"Mollywobbles," the twins imitated in unison, laughing some more.

"I'm fine," Molly replied calmly, patting him gently on the arm.

"Now, that's enough!" he shouted crossly at his still laughing sons. "You could have hurt your mother, scaring her like that!"

This only served as a bigger source of amusement to the twins.

"Oh, come off it, Dad," Fred chuckled. "Mum'll outlive all of us."

"We've been doing that to Mum since before we could walk," George added. "She's the toughest old girl we know."

"Oh, you think so, do you," Arthur continued, ignoring Molly as she tugged on his arm, attempting to relax him.

Fred and George glanced at each other, confused at their normally easy-going father's sudden outburst.

"Sorry," the mumbled together.

"We didn't mean anything by it," started Fred.

"We were just fooling," said George.

"You just watch yourselves," Arthur replied, still slightly cross. "No more tricks, no more pranks, no more scaring your mother half to death. It's not good for her, and it's not good for—"

"Arthur!" Molly hissed, digging her nails into his arm.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Not good for what, Dad?" George asked, concerned.

Molly sighed, looking annoyed at her husband.

"Not good for the baby," she said slowly, wringing her hands.

The twins laughed again.

George gave her a hug. "Now who's making jokes?"

Fred smiled. "Good one, Mum. I guess we get the humor from your side."

"She's serious," Arthur chimed in, calmer now. "We're having another baby."

"Wow," came the response, in unison.

Then, "Dad, you old dog."

"We didn't know you had it in you."

Molly sighed with relief, a small smile crossing her lips as she listened to the banter between the men in her life, glad her news was taken so well. Happily, she joined in the banter, discussing the new addition with her family, almost forgetting, for the moment, the uncertainties and dangers that lurked outside the walls of her little home.


	5. Of Daughters and Dinners

_**Thanks for all the kind reviews. Please keep them up, if you can. I really need the feedback to decide where to go with this. Thanks!**_

It had been almost two months since Molly's announcement of her pregnancy. Arthur was still over the moon, walking around the Burrow, and, she was told, the Ministry, like he was as tall as Hagrid. The first trimester at its finish, it signaled, for Molly the end of the dreadful morning sickness that she had become reacquainted with since her last pregnancies. Though it was still early on, she had begun to notice the slight swell of her stomach, and the familiar thrill of impending motherhood with each passing day.

The twins, still back at home temporarily, jabbered with future plans for their siblings, not the least of which was teaching him, as the baby was commonly referred, all about pranks and inducting him to onto the staff of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes when he came of age. Charlie had been owled and, not surprisingly, seemed thrilled, and sent a pair of dragon skin booties for his future sibling. Bill and Fleur had been told when they came to Sunday dinner, and Bill after the initial shock wore off, embraced the news happily, though Molly swore her daughter-in-law looked slightly disgusted. Arthur had stopped in to visit Percy and let him know, and he had sent his mother a terse, overly polite note of congratulations, the formality of which had broken Molly's heart. Ron, she knew, was impossible to locate, and she had forced herself to block it from her mind, lest she worry herself sick.

Ginny was the most difficult, as Ministry or Death Eater owl interception was common place, particularly in regards to families under suspicion of Order activity or blood-treason. Fred and George, therefore, had devised to send her a small note hidden in a Skiiving Snackbox shipment, as their shop had been forced to close given the current political climate, and had been forced to operate entirely by mail-order this year. Still, Molly was uncertain whether or not her daughter knew at all, until the post came one Saturday morning.

It was Figaro, Neville Longbottom's fat old barn owl, who dropped off the letter, and Molly knew at once from the curly violet handwriting on the envelope that it was from Ginny. Picking it up, Molly examined it closely, and was shocked to discover that it was a Howler. Almost immediately, it jumped from her hands and began to shout.

"_SERIOUSLY, MUM? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU'RE ALMOST FIFTY FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! AS IF THINGS WEREN'T CRAZY ENOUGH, YOU'RE ADDING ADDING A BABY TO THE MIX? IT'S BARMY!"_

There was a long pause. Molly held her breath, preparing to be yelled at some more, secretly bemused at her daughter's outburst, as she knew it was merely Ginny's way, needing to blow up before she calmed down, creating panic before the peace. She was, after all, her mother's daughter.

The message continued, more calmly this time.

"_Sorry, Mum. It just freaked me out a bit, hearing it the way I did. Congratulations to you and Dad. I'll be crossing my fingers for another girl."_

Then, with a great shuddering sigh, the note tore itself up.

Molly chuckled, hearing from above, the sounds of scrambling as Arthur rushed to the landing from the upstairs washroom, a towel wrapped precariously around his waist and shaving foam still covering half his face.

"What the bloody hell was all the shouting about?" he asked, alarmed. "Is everything alright?"

"It's fine," she smiled, turning back to her cooking. "It was just a letter from Ginny. Apparently she got the message about the baby."

He shook his head and, grumbling, stalked back up the stairs to finish getting ready for the Order meeting later that day.

Hours later, several members of the Order were assembled around the Weasley kitchen table, listening as Kingsley shared the dismal news about the goings on at the Ministry and Hogwarts. Their campaign was not going well, it seemed, the Death Eater and bureaucratic strongholds throughout the country making it difficult to recruit for their cause. More frightening still, the Muggle-born interrogations continued, and a recent infiltration of the Ministry had tightened security to an almost unbearable level. As she flitted about the table, serving and passing seemingly never-ending plates of delicious food, Molly's nerves got the better of her several times, and the only thing that kept her calm was placing a reassuring hand over her abdomen, reminding herself to be strong for the child she carried.

Finally, though, just as the last of Molly's famous fudge was sliced and served, the conversation's dark nature had run its course and topics seemed to take a lighter tone. She glanced at Tonks, who was scarfing down her third helping of dessert, then at Remus, who shook his head, amused, waiting for his wife to pick the perfect time to make the announcement.

Before the rest of the Order had arrived that evening, the Lupins had taken Molly aside and told her they'd be telling everyone of their pregnancy tonight. Molly had smiled, biting back news of her own expectancy, which was still a secret to those outside the family.

Tonks looked around a moment and, noticing a break in the conversation, stood up, yanking Remus along with her.

"Oi! Me and Remus have some news," she said, smiling.

Everyone looked up at her, expectantly.

"We—uh-we—,"began Remus nervously.

"We're having a baby," Tonks burst out.

The room was silent.

"Well," asked Tonks nervously. "Isn't anyone going to say anything?"

Molly spoke up, walking to her friends and taking them both in one of her patented bear hugs.

"I, for one, think it's wonderful. What a lucky, lucky baby. Don't you think Arthur?"

She kicked her husband sharply, prodding him to respond.

"Oh, uh, yeah, wonderful," he bumbled, more interested in the Muugle surge-protector he was taking apart. "Congratulations."

Around the table came subdued congratulations, slowly growing more enthusiastic. They were happy for Remus and Tonks to be sure, but cautious as they worried about the extra risks to both their friends' safety and the security of the Order as a whole.

Molly looked at him crossly, took a breath, and continued. She had news of her own to tell tonight.

"Why so quiet?" she asked. "This is great news."

She paused, biting her lip a moment.

"Now my baby will have someone to play with!"

It was as if someone had put a Silencing charm over the entire room. The only sound, it seemed, was from Kingsley, as he coughed, choking on a sip of pumpkin juice in surprise.

Tonks turned to Molly. "What did you say?"

"I said," Molly replied, laughing, "my baby will have someone to play with. Apparently, there's something in the water, because Arthur and I seem to be expecting, too."

Before she realized what had happened, Molly felt Tonks' arms around her, as the younger woman giggled excitedly.

"This is wonderful," she shrieked happily. "I won't have to go it alone now! Oh, Remus, isn't this great?"

Remus smiled warmly, clearly relieved at the solidarity and support he knew his wife would now have.

"Congratulations, Molly," he grinned, offering her a warm kiss on the cheek.

The rest of the room seemed to look to Kingsley, their unofficial leader, for what their reaction should be. He sat for a moment, appearing to be deep in thought, but then again, his expression always was rather hard to read. Finally, after a moment, he stood up, walked to the opposite end of the table where they stood, and draped a hand over each shoulder with a deep, hearty laugh, relieving the tension on the room and casting a seemingly contagious smile upon everyone's faces.

"While this is most definitely one of the more unusual Order announcements I've heard, it is also one of the happiest bits of news I've heard for ages."

He silently Summoned his glass of butterbeer, raising it in a toast.

"To the mothers," he boomed, his velvety baritone reverberating throughout the house. "That they will know happiness and health for the rest of their days, that their children will know peace and love all through their lives, and that their husbands can survive it all!"


	6. Girl Talk

_**Sorry about the delay in posting… Just been busy with school. To make up for it, this chapter's a bit longer than usual. The next one might be a few days because of midterms, but hopefully sooner than later. Please read and review.**_

It was nearly Christmas. Now in her fifth month, Molly felt wonderful. Knowing this was likely to be her last pregnancy (at least, if she could help it), she was reveling in it. Despite the utter chaos of her life, she was suffused with a sense of peace, a calmness that she seemed only to possess when she was with child. She had always loved being pregnant, loved how it made her feel, loved how it made her look. Her skin was never clearer, her hair seemed redder, more lustrous, and even her eyes, it seemed, had gained a new dimension of sparkle.

Despite the occasional mood swing, which was elevated, due to her already infamous Prewitt temper, Molly and Arthur had settled into a seemingly happy routine, meting out their worries, of which there were many, each in their own way; Arthur puttering about his workshop and tinkering with his Muggle collection, which had recently expanded to include something called a "television set" along with the strange-looking, button-covered wand that seemed to control it. Molly, as usual, threw herself into more domestic tasks. With Christmas fast approaching, the Weasley kitchen was quickly churning out mince pies, cakes, and other delicacies one after another, until a pile of treats dominated the counter and Arthur thought he'd died and gone to heaven at the delightful smells that filled the Burrow. Still, too, it was not unusual for Arthur to come in from work or the yard and find several pairs of knitting needles click-clacking away, not only the usual mountain of sweaters for their children and friends, but blanket after blanket for the layette, while his wife sat beside them on the sofa, sewing baby onesies and jumpers, finding it relaxing, for once, to sit and do things the Muggle way, despite the occasional pricked finger.

The twins, recently back at Aunt Muriel's, still popped by on a daily basis, usually to nick food, but promised to be back early on Christmas eve, and had agreed (with a none to gentle warning from their mother), to be on their best behavior. Ginny, too, was home for the holidays, with horror stories to tell about the goings-on at Hogwarts, but for her mother's sake, held her tongue. With Ron still missing, she knew it best not to upset the household. Molly had been upset enough when Bill and Fleur had mentioned they would not be coming to celebrate the holidays, citing their desire for a quiet, romantic first Christmas. This had sent Molly into a crying jag, during which she had threatened via Howler, among other things, completely canceling Christmas and blasting Bill off the family clock like "one of those Black family monsters".

Luckily, Ginny had quickly calmed her, as she, too, seemed to have fallen victim to baby fever, chattering and gabbing with Molly and Tonks, who was a frequent visitor as Molly's 'patient', about anything from babysitting to baby names. This is precisely what they were doing on a clear, cozy December afternoon a week before Christmas.

"…I don't know," Tonks sighed. "I just don't know. I've gone over, like, a thousand names and Remus is no help. All he said was that if it was a boy, he didn't want a Remus junior. Fat lot of help that is."

"Arthur was the same way when I was expecting Bill," Molly replied, smiling, her eyes never leaving the embroidered handkerchiefs she was making for Arthur for Christmas. "Though I did manage to slip it in as the middle name."

"And if it's a girl?" Ginny asked, excitedly.

"Still at a loss," groaned Tonks, "Though it would be a lot easier to concentrate and pick a name if your mother would just tell me what I'm having!"

"I already told you," Molly smirked. "It's more fun to be surprised. I didn't know the gender of any of my children and we were still able to name them just fine."

"Oh, come on, Mum," Ginny begged, "Just tell her. Don't be so old-fashioned."

"There are so few surprises in life," Molly argued, "especially when one has magic. Now, if you want to figure it out yourself, you're welcome to look at the healer's manual, but don't come crying to me if you get the spell wrong and your baby comes out with a tail."

At this Tonks had to laugh.

Ginny heaved a great sigh, throwing herself in true teenage dramatic fashion back against the couch cushions. "Well, when I have a baby, I'm going to find out the sex the first day I can, and have all my kids' rooms all set in pinks and blues the day I get home from St Mungo's."

Molly chuckled. "You say that now, but years from now when you're, Merlin's Beard, making me a grandmother, you might feel differently."

Ginny rolled her eyes again. "You say 'years from now' like it's some eternity away. I'm sixteen, Mum, marriage and kids isn't that far off."

"It had better be," remarked Molly. "You've got six brothers, Ginevra. There isn't a one of them that wouldn't take a poke at any boy who tried to take you away from us before you were bloody well ready for it."

Ginny began to respond, but was cut off by Tonks, who sensed a possible argument brewing.

"How 'bout Irving?"

All three giggled madly.

When they had come down from the peals of laughter that had consumed them, Ginny smiled.

"Concentrate on the girls' names," she advised. "You've just got to have a girl, Tonks. There's too many boys around here, anyway."

"I hate to tell you, Dear," Molly replied, still chuckling, "but with the track record your father and I have, don't hold out your hopes for a little sister from me."

Tonks nodded, grinning. "I'll do what I can, kid. I can't—Oh!"

"What is it?" Molly asked, alarmed, dropping her embroidery and placing a gentle hand on the younger witch's shoulder.

"It's fine," Tonks replied, smiling widely. "It was just a kick. Caught me off-guard."

"It kicked?" Ginny asked. "Can I feel it?"

Molly sighed. "Now, Ginny…"

"No, really, it's okay," said Tonks, taking the young girl's hand and placing it on her stomach. "There. Feel it?"

"Oh, that's weird," Ginny giggled. "Does it hurt when it kicks you?"

"No," replied Tonks, "just feels a bit funny when it moves around, though sometimes when I'm trying to fall asleep and little-no-name here doesn't feel quite the same way, I start to think I might have swallowed a bludger."

"Welcome to the club," chuckled Molly. "When I was pregnant with you, Ginny, I was convinced you were going to be some sort of Muggle football star or something, with the amount you kicked me."

"Oh, Mum."

"How 'bout your boys with the kicking?" Tonks asked. "Was Ron that bad? Or—"

Molly's smile suddenly faded at the mention of Ron.

"Excuse me," she muttered, getting up and leaving. "I, uh, I have to check on something in the oven."

Ginny bit her lip, looking slightly worried.

"Did I say something wrong?" Tonks asked.

"You mentioned Ron," explained Ginny. "Lately, anytime someone mentions his name she gets upset. I mean, we knew when he and Harry and Hermione went on this mission for Dumbledore, they wouldn't really be able to contact us, but it's been months with no word at all, no messages, no owls, no news. Not even the odd letter from the Muggle post."

"I know how she feels," Tonks muttered ruefully. "My dad's been on the run for months. You've seen how they've been rounding up Muggle-borns. They've been coming back to my mum's place almost every week to question her. They'd probably take her in, too, but I guess, even disowned, being one of the Pure-blood Black sisters has its advantages."

Ginny nodded. "It's been just awful at Hogwarts, too. They're running like a prison. Makes you almost sort of wish for Umbridge to come back… almost."

Tonks smirked.

"We've got a Resistance going, though," Ginny continued, "Neville and Luna and I. We can't do much, but at the very least, we try to mess with their heads. Pranks and graffiti, you name it, we've tried it. I've even got a good silent Confundus working for whenever that sham of a Muggle-Studies teacher, Carrow, tries to spout rubbish about dirty blood and stealing magic. She's a right bloody bitch, she is."

"You don't hear me arguing with you," Tonks grinned. "You keep it up, Gin. It's the little stuff that breaks down the big picture. Just don't get caught."

She looked toward the kitchen. "Are you sure your mum's alright?"

Ginny nodded. "She just needs a good cry. I guarantee you, she'll be back in five minutes with about ten tons of raisin cookies to force down our throats."

"Wrong," chuckled a voice coming in from the kitchen. "I'm back now, and they're treacle cookies."

Molly entered the room, her face still reddened from her recent bout of crying, but she was smiling, genuinely it seemed, and sat back down between the two younger women.

Yum, thanks, Mum," Ginny grinned, snagging a cookie from the tray.

Tonks took a couple of cookies, too. "Yeah, thanks, Molly. And I'm really sorry I upset you a minute ago. I didn't think."

"It's fine," replied Molly, rolling her eyes. "I just become a basket-case when I'm pregnant. The slightest thing sets me off. The other day, Arthur accidentally turned off the wireless before the _Witching Hour_ was over, and I cried for twenty minutes that I missed the Celestina Warbeck interview."

Tonks giggled. "I did the same thing yesterday when my favorite orange dress robes wouldn't fit. All I had to do was put a quick engorgement charm on it, but it didn't stop me from going completely mental for an hour."

"Don't remind me," chuckled Molly in reply. "That's always the worst part. I used to be a tiny thing before I had my children. Even after Bill and Charlie, I always thinned back down. You know, before I got pregnant with Percy, I could still fit into my Hogwarts uniform if I had a mind to."

"Yeah, right," Ginny scoffed, rolling her eyes, unable and unwilling to picture her mother as anything but her mother.

"Don't believe me?" smirked Molly, winking at Tonks, who shrugged.

With a whip of her wand, she silently charmed an old, red-bound photograph album and spread it open on her lap, motioning for Ginny and Tonks to peek through it with her. The first photo was a beach scene, a leggy brunette in a modest bathing suit waving at the camera.

"That was my best friend, Theresa Callaghan," she said, smiling. "She was a Ravenclaw. Utterly brilliant. After graduation, she ended up moving to the States and got a position as a Charms teacher at the Salem Witches Institute. I still get Christmas cards from her."

They looked at the opposite page. The next picture was a group shot, the same brunette girl as before, but she was standing between two handsome grinning teenage boys in swimming trunks, who seemed to be jockeying for position to gain her attention, though none of it seemed to interest her.

"Oh, Molly, are they—," Tonks asked.

"My brothers," Molly nodded, looking wistful. "Your Uncles Gideon and Fabian, Gin. Devilishly handsome. They knew it, too. And worse behaved then Fred and George, if you can believe it."

"They're handsome," murmured Tonks.

Molly nodded, brushing the photo with her fingertips.

She turned the page, before the nostalgia turned to sadness at the memory of her lost brothers. Yet another beach scene, but this one featured a giggling couple, who chased each other about the frame, laughing madly. The boy was lanky, and tallish, with a thick, messy thatch of curly reddish hair. The girl next to him was red haired, too, but hers was darker, copper-colored, pinned back and wavy, partially hidden by a wide brimmed hat. The hat was the only protection against the seaside sun she seemed to have, as she sported a rather brief two-piece swimsuit.

"Who's that?" Ginny asked. "I recognize Dad. He has the same goofy smile Ron has. Who's that with him, though? She's lovely."

"You're talking to her," smirked Molly. "I still have that swimsuit, you know. Though God knows how long it's been since it fit."

"Where was this taken?" asked Tonks.

"Arthur took all of us to a Muggle seaside resort for the day the summer before our seventh year. Blackpool, I think it was called."

Tonks perked up. "Ooh, my Dad used to take Mum and I there when I was a kid. Did you ride the roller-coaster?"

Molly nodded. "It was so much fun. We did all the amusements. I swear, I still don't know how they make some of those things move the way they do without magic. It's amazing."

"You went on the rides, Mum?" Ginny asked. "I can't picture that."

"You know, I had a life before you were born, Ginny."

"I know," replied Ginny. "I just never thought about it before. What happened?"

"I was mauled by a hippogriff," Molly deadpanned, rolling her eyes. "What do you think? You and your brothers didn't just Apparate to our doorstep, you know."

Even Ginny had to chuckle at the one.

"Well," said Tonks, rising, "I should probably get going. Remus and I have some decorating to do before the holiday. We'll see you next week?"

"Dinner's at 6," Molly replied. "And tell your mother not to bring a thing. We've got everything all set here."

"Bye, Tonks," called Ginny absentmindedly as the other witch Disapparated, flipping through the pages of the photo album with interest at the decades old beach vacation.

Molly smiled as her daughter looked at the pictures of her past, pictures of little Molly Prewitt, giggling and laughing back in the carefree days before Voldemort had ever been heard of, let alone threatening their entire existence, back before time and stress and family had carved softly into her youthful features.

"These pictures are great, Mum," Ginny smiled, looking up. "You look like you're having so much fun. You should smile like that more often."

"Well," sighed Molly, "After this whole war is over, I'll have much more to smile about, won't I?"

"We all will," Ginny agreed.

"Maybe, after everything is said and done and it's safer, we could have your dad take us all out to Blackpool. The whole family. Hermione and Harry, too. Arthur's been dying to mingle among the Muggles again and, well, I know I'd love to see it again."

Ginny's eyes shined, and for a moment, Molly thought she might have been looking at a reflection of her own past.

"Oh, Mum, could we?" she chattered. "That'd be brilliant!"

Molly nodded, chuckling at her daughter's excitement at a prospect that she knew, realistically, might never come. Even if the war ended soon, which, to Molly, seemed a prospect that slipped further and further away with each bit of bad news that came over the wireless or trickling in from Order members, between Fred and George's antics, Arthur's increasingly busy job, and a little one to take care of in a few months' time, it was likely they just wouldn't have the time or money to pursue such an adventure for years to come. She sighed softly.

"Mum?"

Ginny's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Yes, Dear?"

"Can I wear your old swimsuit?"


	7. The Great Escape

Spring had sprung at the Burrow. The cold and damp of the winter months had fallen away around St Patrick's Day and now, just weeks later, the crocuses were budding through the melted snow and primroses and forsythia had begun to bloom in Weasley family garden. Also blooming, it seemed, was Molly Weasley herself.

Well into her third trimester, the calming, happy, glow that had accompanied her pregnancy in its early months had disappeared, and had been replaced by fatigue and annoyance. No longer did she love the gently rounded curves the pregnancy added to her figure, instead feeling quite often like a beached whale. The extra energy she had felt earlier on had long gone, and instead of seemingly endless days of cooking, cleaning, and making ready for baby, Molly was inclined to spend more and more time lounged on the settee in the living room, the only place, it seemed, where she could rest her swollen ankles and back aches that always manifested themselves late in her pregnancies.

A post-Christmas loneliness had begun to fill the house again. Ginny had returned from school for the Easter holidays, and though she tried to spend time with her mother, the close quarters had sparked typical mother-daughter disagreements, and the teen had been spending increased amounts of time in the privacy of her room, writing in her journal, listening to the Wyrd Sisters and mooning over a certain dark-haired bespectacled wizard who'd been missing for months. The twins were now back at Aunt Muriel's, driving her back up the wall with their back room business dealings, and Molly received Howlers almost every other week shrieking about their latest exploits. Bill and Fleur, still so lost it seemed in the lusty haze of the newly-married, had all but discontinued their weekly Sunday dinner visits, occasionally stopping by for the odd lunch, but infrequently so. Molly, her mother's instinct in peak form, sensed they were hiding something, but for the life of her, could not figure out what and thought it best that she not ask. Arthur's hours at the Ministry had gotten even longer in recent months, as he tried to distance himself from the already great suspicion he was under by working twice as hard and long, trying to prove a loyalty he no longer felt, if only to keep his family safe. The Trio was still off on their mission, and though Molly knew that they were doing Dumbledore's work, work that could potentially win the day for the Order, she began to resent the late headmaster for sending her son and his friends on what could be a suicide mission.

She rarely ventured out of the house now, both her physical comfort and the danger of the world outside the protected sanctuary of the Burrow had made it a chore. Occasionally, Remus would come and escort her as she Apparated to the Tonks', where Nymphadora was having similar symptoms, as she was even closer to her due date. This was coupled by the tragic recent news that her muggle-born father, Ted, who for months had been on the run from Snatchers, had been captured and killed. Using a few simple spells from her healer's manual, Molly would go about monitoring both Tonks and baby, offering a few words of commiseration and comfort to the younger woman, and assuring her that before she knew it, she'd be holding her baby in her arms.

And so, it was a typical Monday afternoon, the week before Easter, that Molly lay on the sofa, listening to the Wireless, and trying to take a nap. After a few minutes of twisting to try and find a comfortable position, which didn't seem to exist in her current condition, she sighed and heaved herself back upright and onto her feet. Slowly, she shuffled her way to the stairs, the baby pressing down on her bladder again and making her trips to the bathroom frequent, and the fact that the lavatory was on the third floor of the rickety-staired old home made each trip a chore.

_Six more weeks_, Molly thought, reflecting on the maternal health spells she'd performed on herself earlier that day, which had shown one strong, solid heartbeat and a fuzzy, misty shadow of the wriggling child within her womb, that reminded Molly of a Patronus. _Six more weeks until you're born. I love you, baby, but I swear to God, six weeks can't come soon enough for me_.

Finally reaching the third-floor landing with a huff and puff, Molly looked up to the room at the top of the house, which seemed to shudder and vibrate with the bassline of what sounded like a sickeningly loud song. Rolling her eyes, she entered the bathroom, casting a quick silencing charm upwards to drown out the noise.

A few minutes later, as Molly was washing her hands at the basin, she heard what sounded like a deafening crash come from floors below, followed by footsteps thundering down the stairs. Alarmed, she burst through the door, just in time to see the red flash of Ginny's hair as it flew down the steps.

"Ginny!" she shrieked, rushing as fast as she could downstairs. "What's going on?"

"Mum!" a deep voice shouted.

"Bill?" Molly called, bounding into the living room as quickly as she was able, crashing into Ginny to stop herself. "What is it? What's happened?"

Bill stood in the middle of the living room, out of breath as if he'd just finished some great physical exertion. The gouged scars in his cheek, remnants of the Greyback attack, twitched slightly, betraying his nerves. His blue eyes darted around, panicked, and his brow was furrowed, with a mix of fear and concern. It was this look that frightened Molly more than anything, but before she could speak again, he grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Mum," he cried, "You've got to go! You and Ginny! Pack your stuff and go to Aunt Muriel's! It's an emergency!"

Ginny immediately sprang into action, running upstairs to her still-packed school trunk, Summoning items left and right as she went, trying to plan out what else she needed to add.

"Just essentials," Bill called up after her, "You don't have much time, so hurry!"

"What's going on, Bill? Tell me!"

Molly was panicked by now, and had started to shiver violently, though the room was not cold by any measure. Seeing her distress, Bill shook her slightly, bringing her back to focus.

"Mum!"

"Is it your father? Oh, God, what's happened!"

"Mum!" he shouted again. "Dad's fine! He's alright! On his way to Aunt Muriel's by portkey as we speak. Fred and George are there already."

She sighed, momentarily calmed, but almost instantly a sense of dread rose in her eyes. "Ron? Please tell me it's not Ron. Oh, Merlin, Bill, please tell me it's—"

He looked down, sighing as he hesitated giving the news. "He, Hermione, and Harry broke the Taboo on You-Know-Who's name and got caught by some Snatchers."

Molly's knees buckled, and it took every ounce of Bill's considerable strength to hold her up and gently transport her into the nearest chair, kneeling next to her.

"My boy," she murmured, tears beginning to slip down her full cheeks. "My poor boy."

"It's okay, Mum," Bill continued, offering a small smile of reassurance as he clutched his mother's hand. "They escaped. They got away. Saved Ollivander and the Lovegood girl, too."

She looked up, a ray of hope crossing her face. "They're alright?"

Bill nodded. "They will be."

"How could you possibly know? Have you seen them?"

He nodded again. "When they escaped, they came to Fleur's and my place. We're the only ones who are completely off-the-grid as far as the Death Eaters are concerned. It was the safest place for them."

"Take me there," Molly replied instantly, ignoring the crashes and bangs Ginny was making upstairs as she continued haphazardly packing. "I've got to see them. Make sure they're all right."

She stood up, still babbling. "Now, you'll have to do the Apparating. In my condition, side-along is probably the safest, and then Ginny can just take the emergency Portkey to—"

"Mum!" Bill shouted her into silence, then continued more evenly. "Mum, you can't go to Shell Cottage. It's not safe. You've got to go to Aunt Muriel's."

Molly stood up, looking twice as tall as her five feet three inch height, willing herself to tower over her son, and spoke in a deathly quiet voice. "My son and his friends, whom I have not seen nor heard from in over eight months have just barely escaped with their lives from the same people who have killed hundreds, thousands without blinking an eye. Now, you step aside William Weasley, or I swear to God, I'll hex you and not blink an eye. I don't care what the law says, they're children, one mine by birth, the others by choice. I am going to Shell Cottage with or without your help, Bill, though with will be considerably easier and safer. Make your choice."

Bill sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Mum, you know I can't let you do that. It's not safe. I promised Dad I'd get you to Muriel's."

"Then move aside and let me get my cloak," she replied, her steely gaze burning nearly burning a hole into him as she tried a mother's last resort: guilt. "You know, Bill, I really needed your support in this. I'm only supposed to be Side-Along Apparating in my condition, but apparently I've no choice. I just hope I don't splinch myself or anything."

"They're not even there anymore," he burst out quickly, clutching at straws for what to say. "They've already left!"

Molly studied his eyes for a moment.

"You're lying. Now, move. I'm going."

By this time, Ginny had come down the stairs, dragging a pair of trunks behind her, having heard the entire conversation through the thin walls of the Burrow.

"Stop it, Mum!" she shouted, rushing to Molly's side and grabbing her arm. "Bill's right! You can't go! It's too dangerous! I won't let you!"

"We don't have time for this," Bill warned, shaking his head as he shrank the trunks with a wave of his wand. "The Ministry's probably on its way as we speak. Dad barely made it out of his office before they started blasting down the door. We've got to go. Now!"

Ignoring her son, Molly looked to Ginny, shaking her head. "He's my son, Ginny. I've got to go. I thought you'd understand. What if he's hurt?"

She paused.

"What if Harry's hurt?"

Ginny stared at her pleadingly, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "I worry just as much as you do, Mum. I've thought about that every night since he left. We promised, though, Mum. We've got to let them do this. It's what they're supposed to do. It's what Dumbledore wanted."

"Sod Dumbledore!" Molly cried, wrenching her arm away, tears running down her cheeks. "He wasn't a parent! He didn't get it!"

Just then, they heard voices outside in the yard, and the slosh of footsteps as they traipsed through the muddy garden. It would only be a matter of seconds until they reached the door.

"Please, Mum," Ginny began to cry, grabbing the now-tiny trunks and moving toward the family's emergency Portkey, in this case disguised as a tattered old copy of Witch Weekly. "Please just come on. We've got to go."

"But—," Molly started.

Shooting her mother one last pleading look, Ginny reached out and touched the Portkey, whooshing out of sight before Molly's eyes.

Suddenly, Bill rushed towards his mother, grasping her in a tight hug.

"We don't have time for this!"

At that moment, a scream of _Bombarda!_ cut through the air and the already weathered door of the Burrow blasted off its hinges, and Yaxley, Runcorn, and the toadish face of Dolores Umbridge burst in, just in time to see a small flash as the last of the Weasleys escaped their home, for God only knew how long.


	8. Arrival at Aunt Muriel's

The next thing Molly knew, she found herself standing in the musty mauve parlor of her Aunt Muriel's house. Waiting tensely on the mothy, doily-covered sofas were Arthur, Ginny, and the twins, who immediately rushed to her side. Giving her a small kiss on the cheek, Bill Disapparated almost immediately, presumably back to Shell Cottage to attend to his wife and their "unexpected guests."

"Nooo!" Molly cried, collapsing to her knees as she realized she was not at Shell Cottage and her Ron was still nearly worlds away.

The relieved embraces of her family soon became restraining, trying to calm her hysterics, as she fought like a mother tiger to go to the aid of the cub that needed her most.

"Grab her wand," Arthur called, alarmed, as he tried to still her. "She can't Apparate without it!"

"Let me go!" Molly struggled, fighting against them as hard as she dared without causing harm to the baby. "Ron's at Bill's! I've got to go to him!"

At that moment, Muriel entered the room, a tray of tea in her hands. "What the bloody hell's going on in here?"

Everyone ignored her.

"Molly!" Arthur shouted finally, grasping her shoulders and forcing her attention, the others moving aside. "You've got to stop this! We have to stay here. You have to stay here!"

She whimpered, taking great heaving breaths, and responded in a small, helpless voice that scared him.

"But… it's Ron. He's my baby, Arthur."

Her husband softened, taking her in a gentle hug. "I know, Darling, I know. But it's safer for everyone this way. The less we know, the safer it is for everyone. What was it Remus called it? Ah, yes, plausible deniability."

"But—," Molly started again, though she had calmed considerably by this point, and Arthur was able to lead her over to a mothy armchair in the corner of the living room.

George tapped his father on the shoulder.

"Here, Dad," he said, handing Arthur a cup of tea. "Give this to her."

Arthur handed the cup to Molly and helped her drink. A moment later, she was asleep.

Muriel shook her head. "I knew it. You monsters finally killed her."

Arthur turned to Fred and George, a curious and slightly annoyed look on his face. "What did you give her?"

"New product," Fred shrugged, "Out-Cold Cream. Just a bit in her tea. That's all."

"You drugged your mother?" Arthur's voice started to rise. "With one of your products?"

"Dad, relax," replied George. "She was hysterical. She'll sleep for a couple of hours and she'll be fine. It's nothing dangerous, I swear."

"Yeah, just a couple of drops of a simple sleeping potion," Fred added. "Right out of one of Mum's old recipe books, actually."

Their father looked dubious. "Well…"

"They did the right thing," Ginny spoke up. "You know Mum. She wouldn't have stopped. Once she gets worked up over something, she doesn't let it go. The stress isn't good for the baby. You know that, Dad."

He nodded, sitting back on his heels and sighed, a look of defeat written across his brow. "You're right. I just don't know what to do anymore. There's nothing I can do, really, but sit here and wait around for news to trickle in from Merlin knows where. It's not right."

Ginny knelt down beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Oh, Dad…" she murmured, but Arthur paid no mind.

"I'm the father," he continued, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "I should be the one out there hunting down whatever it is they're looking for. Why didn't Dumbledore ask me? It's my responsibility as a parent to keep them out of harm's way."

Ginny offered him a small smile, touching his cheek gently. "Your responsibility is to keep doing exactly what you've been doing. Taking care of Mum, providing for all of us, keeping us safe the best you can. Mum's going to be alright, Dad. So is Ron. He knew what he was getting into, what the risks were. He had to do it. It's what's right."

And to her brothers, who didn't know what to make of the situation at hand, "Why don't you take Mum upstairs? Don't Apparate, though. She's had enough of that today. Use Wingardium Leviosa, but for God sakes, be careful."

They quickly complied, rendered silent for once.

Her father looked slowly looked up at her, a small, sad smile on his face. "You're sounding more like your mother every day."

"Must be the all that hot-blooded 'Prewitt-ness'," she replied, smirking.

"Who'd have thought my little girl would turn out to be the strong one in this family?"

"Not so little anymore," Ginny remarked.

Arthur sighed again. "No, I suppose not. At least let your Old Man pretend, though? I don't think I could take it if I had to admit you were all grown up."

"It's a deal," grinned Ginny, rising to her feet.

"You alright now, Dad?" she asked, holding out a hand to help him up.

He smiled, taking her offered limb. "I will be."

"Come one, now. Let's go check on your mother."

_**Okay, guys… Sorry this chapter is so short, but in order to get where I wanted to be, I needed kind of a short bridge chapter… The next one is coming soon, I promise, and will be much longer. Please keep those reviews coming! If you can "story alert" me, you can review me, please, please, please.**_


	9. The Morning After

_**Sorry again about the delay. Been trying to write a bit each night, but I usually end up rewriting everything a couple of times anyway. The last several chapters, though, won't have as long a wait in between, I promise, as I've written most (but not all) of the ending already. I'm really appreciative of all the kind reviews, but please, please, keep them coming. I know a lot of you read and don't necessarily review, but please, if you could, for this story, make an exception?**_

Molly awoke the next morning to the intoxicating aromas of bacon and coffee. Slowly, she opened her eyes, momentarily confused to find herself in a strange bedroom, a tray of food resting on the table next to the bed. As the cobwebs cleared from her mind, she realized she was at Aunt Muriel's and began to recall, with a profound sadness, the events that had forced her from her home and the forces keeping her from her youngest son. Groaning with the effort, she tried to shift into a sitting position, reaching into her pocket for her wand to try and adjust her pillows, cursing silently when she discovered it was not there.

Realizing that, because of the advanced state of her pregnancy, she would not be able to comfortably sit without help, Molly sighed.

"Hello? Can someone please come here a moment?"

From down the hall she heard chuckles and the rumble of bounding feet as they trotted toward her room. Suddenly, Fred popped his head into the doorway.

"Awake now, are we?" he grinned, striding towards her. "Everything okay?"

"Not really," Molly replied with a groan. "Your mum's as big as a house and she can't seem to sit up at the moment. Give us a hand, will you?"

Fred smiled, plumping up the pillows and offering a strong hand behind his mother's back, helping her into a seated position.

"Better?"

Molly nodded. "Yes, thank you, though I wouldn't have actually needed your help at all if I had my wand. Do you know what's happened to it?"

"You mean you don't remember?" replied Fred in disbelief.

"Not really," she admitted. "I mean, I remember Bill Apparating us here and I remember being upset—"

Fred snorted. "Upset? Mum, you were thrashing about like a crazy person! It would have been funny if it weren't so scary. That's why you don't have your wand. Dad made us take it so you couldn't Apparate out of here."

Molly blushed with embarrassment. "Yes, well, I'm fine now. Can I have my wand back?"

He seemed hesitant. "You promise you won't try to do anything silly? Dad'll hex the hide off me if anything happens."

She rolled her eyes. "Very well, I promise."

He reached into his pocket and handed her the wand, which she immediately used to Summon the tray of breakfast from the bedside table and cast a heating charm to warm the food.

"There's no chance you'll take me out to Shell Cottage, is there?" Molly asked hopefully as she picked at a fried egg.

"Nope," he shook his head. "Bill owled Dad last night, put extra wards around the place and an Anti-Apparating Charm. Dumbledore himself couldn't figure a way in there."

"Very well," she sighed, realizing that, short of severely endangering both herself and her unborn child, she was well and truly stuck, at least for the time being.

"Hey, what happened after you took my wand? I still don't remember anything after that," Molly continued, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "The next thing I know, I'm waking up here. What happened? I didn't faint, did I?"

At this Fred grimaced slightly. "Actually… Okay, Mum, I'll tell you, but you've got to promise not to get mad. You and the little Wease here, were perfectly safe the entire time, I swear."

"What did you do?" asked Molly, her voice now tinged with ice.

"Well, it was George's idea," he began, getting nervous and beginning to babble. "We just, you know, sort of, well, slipped some of our new product into your tea. Out-Cold Cream."

"Oh, my God," she sighed in disgust, shaking her head angrily.

"It's not a big deal, though, Mum, I swear. We've been testing it on ourselves for weeks with no problem. And—and we even used the Sleeping Draught from one of your old recipes."

"I cannot believe you would—" Molly began shouting, but paused. "Wait, what? One of my potion recipes?"

"Well, yeah," replied Fred, slightly relaxing. "It's perfect for what we needed. Everything else we tried was either too strong or wouldn't stand up to the sweet-cream we added. A lot of our stuff is based on recipes and charms we've nicked from you. We never realized what a great witch you were. If you weren't so busy, we'd have to hire you."

With that admission, Molly smiled, perhaps for the first time in days. She rarely got to speak to Fred and George alone, inseparable as they were, and even when she did, it was usually when they were being reprimanded for something.

"So," she asked, devouring her food in earnest. "Where is everybody?"

"Ginny was in the living room reading and trying her best not to tell of Muriel last time I checked."

She chuckled.

"And your father?"

He hesitated. "Dad went over to the Lupins' place. Remus needed some moral support. Tonks is having her baby."

Molly began to protest, but he stopped her.

"Mum, you can't go," he said gently, but forcefully. "You've got to rest a bit more before you're back on your feet. Andromeda can handle it. You've taken care of her for nine months. Everything will be fine."

"But—"

"Mum, everything will be fine," Fred repeated.

She sighed, knowing he was right, and slumped like a petulant child back against the pillows.

"How about your partner in crime? Where is he?"

Fred smiled mischievously. "George is, well… _indisposed_ at the moment."

Molly rolled her eyes, knowing that, somehow, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes must have been involved.

"Indisposed how?"

"We're just doing a bit of product testing on our new Bat-Bogey-Bubble-Gum," Fred smirked. "Looks like it'll be a best seller."

Molly couldn't help but laugh. Her twins could always do that, make her smile in the bleakest of moments. Of all her children, Bill was the leader, the assertive take-charge one, his first-born dominance following him through life. Charlie was the adventurer, the wild child, the thrill junkie, who knew from the time he was seven that he would grow up to wrestle with dragons. Then there was Percy, her little bureaucrat, always preferring to read and report rather than play and pretend, even as a small child. Ron, well, Ron was sweet and endearing, insecure because of his place behind five so accomplished brothers, but loyal and kind to a fault. And then Ginny, her darling little girl, her longed-for daughter, who was growing up more and more like her every day, having inherited her mother's capacities for warmth and worry, as well as her fearsome Prewitt temper. But her duo, her Fred and George, they were her happy babies, finding the joy in everything life had to offer.

So lost was she in her musings, it took several calls from her son to return her back to earth.

"Mum? Mum?"

"Oh, uh, yes, Dear?" she replied, shaking the daydream away.

He chuckled. "You alright? You seemed kind of out there for a minute."

"I'm fine," Molly smiled. "Pregnancy brain, you know. So, Darling, I haven't seen you in a while. How is everything with the business? Muriel seems to hate it, but that's pretty much all I've been able to gather."

"It's great," Fred smiled. "It's kind of like the old days at school, running things out of a backroom, testing on each other. Not to mention, we have a lot more profit since we don't have the overhead of stocking a store and hiring help and things. I kind of like it. I do miss having our shop, though."

"Well, I'm sure things will be back to normal before you know it," grinned Molly, telling herself that as much as him. "Who knows, maybe you can open a second location in Hogsmeade when all is said and done."

"Hey, yeah," said Fred, "that would be great. A twin shops, one for each of us. I'd get the main shop, though, of course, since I'm older."

"By three minutes," replied Molly, rolling her eyes as she recalled the 17 hour birth, which took place on April Fool's Day, of all days.

"Hey, older is older," Fred said.

Molly sipped the last of her pumpkin juice, and sighed softly.

"This is nice," she said. "We never get to have conversations like this, just you and me."

"Yeah, it is nice," he replied, whisking the tray away with a wave of his wand. "So, are you feeling better?"

"Much," Molly nodded. "I just get so worked up about everything, especially when I can't really do anything to help."

Fred smiled, patting her hand, which rested on her stomach. "It'll get better. I can feel it. I mean, things can't get much worse, can they?"

"No, I suppose not," replied Molly, grinning.

"And everything's good with little Weasley-to-be-named-later?"

"Oh, yes, he seems fine," chuckled Molly, "Kicking like mad so far today."

"'He'?" Fred raised his eyebrows. "So I'm getting another brother?"

Molly smiled. "Well, I'm going to wait and see, but odds are, knowing your father and I, I wouldn't hold out too much hope for a sister."

"Cool," replied Fred, sounding genuine. "I mean, I know George and I make jokes and all, but I think it's really cool I'm getting a new little brother and sister. I was little when you had Ron and Ginny, so I don't really remember it very well, but I'm kind of excited. It'll be fun to play with him and teach him things, you know, just watch him grow up."

She sighed with relief. "I'm so happy you feel that way. It's so nice to know this little one will have so many people around to love him."

A loud groan came from the other room, followed by a barrage of swearing that pierced the thin walls of Muriel's ancient house.

"That'll be George," Fred grinned.

"Oh, Merlin," Molly rolled her eyes again. "Will you give him the bloody antidote? I swear you two are going to kill each other one of these days."

Fred trotted for the door. "Not if we can help it."

After he left, Molly smiled, absentmindedly drawing small circles over her belly.

"That was your brother," she murmured. "One of them anyway. You'll have six, not to mention Ginny. You heard her before. And if all your siblings are half as good to you as I know they'll be, you are going to be one very lucky baby."


	10. To Arms

As the days went by, Molly began to feel much better, slowly compartmentalizing her ill-feelings, the worry for Ron and Harry and Hermione, worry about the baby, missing her familiar home, and began to build a daily routine around Aunt Muriel's house, seeing as how she knew not how long she would be staying there. She'd awaken early, usually after a long night of restless tossing and turning, shower and dress for the day, which in and of itself had become a chore due to her still-growing size. Then she'd go downstairs for one of her daily arguments with her increasingly curmudgeon of an aunt, making breakfast for the family. After that, the wireless would go straight on in the parlor, to remain on for the rest of the day, and Molly would knit for hours, by hand rather than magic, and listen, just listen, for news that would never come, news that the war was over and they could all go home. In the hours between, she would stop again and make lunch for the boys and Ginny, having learned the hard way that Aunt Muriel wanted to keep to herself, either refusing outright or insulting any help Molly tried to offer.

The more time that went on, however, the more the close quarters seemed to be getting on everyone's nerves and the lack of things to do put them on edge with each other. Fights began to break out between the twins, over the silliest little thing as the color of the newest Skiiving Snackbox packaging or whose name went first on the company letterhead, and on more than one occasion, Arthur had to physically separate the two. Molly and Ginny sniped at each other even more than usual, and evenings usually ended with at least two people not on speaking terms.

One evening, the 2nd of May to be exact, found the family in that familiar situation. Fred and George were upstairs, banned from the supper table that evening for Charming the roast beef to sprout legs and scream every time someone tried to slice into it. Muriel was still in the kitchen, muttering to herself about the inconvenience her houseguests, Arthur had found some of the twins' old Muggle magic tricks they sold in their store and was trying for the life of him to figure out how they could manage to pull a rabbit out of an old top-hat without using actual magic. Ginny lounged on the couch, absentmindedly fiddling with a tarnished old coin and reading one of Luna Lovegood's old issues of Quibbler. For her part, Molly was perched on the musty easy chair in the corner, humming along to a song on the wireless and knitting.

All of a sudden, Ginny let out a wild yelp and fell off the couch with a loud thud, the coin clutched tight in her hand.

"Ginny!" Molly and Arthur shrieked in unison, she struggling to rise from the deep cushions of the chair as he rushed to his daughter's side.

A half-second later, two more shouts came from upstairs and in an instant, Fred and George had bounded in, waving coins of their own and babbling incoherently to Ginny.

"Oh, my God, it—"

"Can you believe it?"

"How're we going to—"

"It's crazy!"

"Do you really think—"

"HOLD IT!"

The last one came from Arthur, whose shout rang out like a Silencing Charm over the room.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"It's Harry," Ginny replied excitedly, tears rolling down her cheeks. "He's okay. They're all okay."

"What?" gasped Molly, who was now on her feet.

"It's time," said George. "It's time to fight."

"Fight?" asked Arthur. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

"Dumbledore's Army coin," Fred replied, handing him the coin. "Hermione made them so we knew when the meetings were a couple years back. They warm up and then around the edges it tells you the time and date to meet."

"This time it's different," Ginny continued, pointing at the tiny engravings. "Neville's activated them. They haven't been used for months. And look. This time, he's got the whole coin changed. See?"

Molly grabbed Fred's coin and began to read the inscription.

"_Trio needs you. Apparate into Hog's Head. Passage into castle. War._"

"We've got to go," Ginny insisted. "We don't have time to talk. Come on!"

"They need us," George added.

"Hog's Head?" Arthur asked. "In Hogsmeade?"

"Isn't that the one run by…" Molly trailed off. "Arthur, Ginny's right. We've got to go."

Arthur nodded quickly. "Alright, yeah. Of course. Um, Fred, George, you go ahead. I'll be along."

The boys nodded, walked over to their mother for one final embrace, and quickly Disapparated.

"Molly," Arthur continued. "I need you to Patronus message the Lupins and Kingsley. They'll get the word out to everyone else. Ginny, you—"

"Stay here," Molly interrupted. "You're a child. You need to stay here."

"What! No!"

"Listen to your mother," Arthur demanded. "Molly, you're staying, too."

"No!"

This time it was Molly's turn to protest.

"So help me, Molly, I'll snap your wand," he replied forcefully. "I won't have my girls walking into a warzone."

"But—"

Before she could finish, he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her and kissed her passionately, like a soldier heading off to battle.

"I love you, Molly."

"Arthur, I love—" Molly started back in reply, but before she could finish, he'd Vanished, traces of his kiss still tingling across her lips like a half-remembered dream.

Still half in a daze, she closed her eyes and pulled out her wand, silently casting her Patronus, a lioness, muttering the words of her message before sending it out with a flick of her wrist.

"Apparate into Aberforth's immediately. Harry in Hogwarts. Battle imminent."

No sooner had she finished before Ginny grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of her fog.

"Mum, come on," she begged. "Let's go."

Molly looked at her in disbelief. "Did you not hear what's going on? You're sixteen years old! You are staying right here if I have to Stupefy you myself!"

"Then I guess you're not going either," Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Because I'll tell you right now, the second you leave, I'll be coming right behind you."

"You will do no such thing!"

"Mum, listen to me," Ginny changed tactics. "You're too far-along to Apparate safely on your own. Let me go with you, I'll do the Apparating, and you can Side-Along with me."

Molly shook her head. "Have you forgotten? You're only sixteen. You don't have a license! Not to mention, you've still got the trace!"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I took the lessons in school for months, Mum. And I highly doubt that with Hogwarts in the middle of some kind of attack that what's left of the Ministry is going to be paying all that much attention to some underage magic!"

Molly looked unsure, still worried.

"I can do this, Mum," Ginny continued. "Please let me do this."

Though it lasted only a few seconds, a silence filled the room that seemed an eternity.

Finally, Molly grabbed her daughter's hand, Summoning her cloak from the peg on the wall.

"Let's go, then."


	11. The Long Way In

Molly and Ginny Apparated into the Hog's Head Tavern with a crack that shook the old walls like a gunshot, causing an already agitated Aberforth Dumbledore to grumble with further displeasure.

"Bloody nuisances," he muttered. "Damn bloody gits gearin' up for a lost cause, they are…"

Panicked and nervous as she was, Molly smoothed out her rumpled dress and couldn't help but offer a tart reply.

"Nice to see you, too, Ab."

"Molly."

He shuffled over to her, offering the barest hint of a smile.

"Good to see you," he grunted, glancing down to take in her condition.

"And you," Molly replied quickly, trying to drop the pretense of pleasantry.

Ginny took care of this.

"Look, we don't have time for this," she said, annoyed, earning her a dutifully reproachful look from her mother, the twinkle in her eye betraying a hint of pride at her forwardness. "What's going on?"

Aberforth scowled, his softened mood disappearing at her cheekiness. "What's going on is that apparently my pub has become King's-bloody-Cross Station tonight! People crackin' in, scaring my cat, tramping around to break into Hogwarts for some daft scar-headed dummy and his friends who think they can defeat the Dark Lord!"

Now it was Molly's turn to get angry. Rising up to stretch every inch of her short stature, she strode up to him, speaking with a deadly calm.

"Those are my kids you're talking about Aberforth," she began. "And everything they're doing, they're doing for us, for all of us. Even daft-old dungheaps like you who don't seem to have the brains or guts to appreciate it. Now, I still don't know what's going on, but I need to get up to that castle. Are you going to show me how or not?"

He rolled his eyes, swiping his wand at a picture of a little blonde girl who stared out with a familiar set of blue eyes and a sad, bewildered smile, and it swung open like a door, revealing a dark, torch-lined tunnel, sloping upwards into the unknown.

"Takes you right up to a hidden room," he said. "It's secure. None of them Death Eaters or Ministry nitwits know about it. A bunch of kids been using it for weeks as some sort of hideout. Every couple of days the Longbottom boy begs some food off me."

"Thank you," replied Molly primly, lifting her skirt and climbing carefully onto a chair propped up against the tunnel's entrance.

Ginny moved to follow her mother, but was stopped almost immediately.

"You're not going anywhere but straight home."

"But, Mum—"

"I shouldn't have let you come this far. That's my fault. It's too dangerous. Mr Dumbledore will take you back."

At this, both Aberforth and Ginny shot her death glares.

"It's not fair!" Ginny shouted, stomping her foot. "It's my family, my friends, my school! I have to try and protect them!"

Molly sighed and climbed off of the chair and over to her daughter, caressing her face with her hand. "And I have to try and protect you. The boys I can't control, no matter how much I want to. They're all of age."

"Mum, I'm not a child!"

"You're my child," muttered Molly, pulling her into a hug, before walking back over to the passage entrance.

"Please, Ginny, for once just listen to me."

Ginny scowled.

Molly was about to disappear into the darkness of the tunnel, when suddenly, she was called back once more.

"Wait!"

This time it was Aberforth, holding a bundle of maroon velvet cloth, which he promptly thrust into Molly's arms.

"Take this," he grumbled. "Concealment Cloak. It'll hide the baby. Might make you less of a target."

"Oh, Ab, thank you," she replied genuinely.

"It belonged to me mother," he grunted. "Guess she won't be needing it anymore. I was going to throw it out, but you might get some use out of it."

At this, Molly softened, realizing it must just be his way, grumbling and complaining, and secretly happy to be helping the Cause, a good person at heart, more like his brother than he realized.

With one last apologetic glance at her daughter, and a reassuring pat on old Aberforth's hand, Molly wrapped the cloak tight around herself and slowly vanished up the dark tunnel.

Ginny and Aberforth stared at each other warily for a few minutes, alone in the pub, as most of the people who had come to defend their beloved school, their loved ones, their very lives, had already passed through.

Finally, he couldn't take the large mahogany eyes peering at him any longer.

"Ah, go on, ya daft girl," he sighed, jerking his head toward the open portrait hole. "You want to go kill yourself, I won't stop ya."

Ginny didn't need to be told twice, running across the room and practically leaping into the tunnel's entrance, stopping a moment before running up the seemingly-never-ending slope.

"Even if you don't fight with us, you're a hero for helping," she said. "Your brother would be proud of you. Thank you. For everything."

_**Again, sorry for another short chapter. The next one, I think, will be longer, and then the rest are on the long side as the plot thickens, lol! Please note, I'm going to try and stick to canon as much as possible, and I don't plan on changing many (if any, lol) major events. Certain small details may change or shift, to better suit the flow of the storytelling, but please, just bear with me.**_


	12. Rallying the Troops

_**Thanks for sticking with the story. I'm really appreciative of all the kind things you've all had to say. A few quick notes before this chapter. Yes, I'm aware I've changed some of the dialogue, and the order of some of the dialogue and events from the way they've occurred in DH. I still plan to follow major events from canon, so just relax, lol. It just seemed to flow better for the purposes of my story and the tone I'm trying to create. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one will be coming soon. **___

Several minutes of huffing and puffing later, Molly finally lumbered through the other end of the tunnel, feeling as large and ungainly as Hagrid. Looking around, she saw a room that was, at once, entirely new, filled with hammocks and House banners and clothing lines full of robes and socks, yet strangely familiar, as if she'd been there before. Also familiar to her were the people that turned to look as she entered.

"Mum?" Bill and the twins asked simultaneously.

"Mon dieu!"

Fleur looked just as surprised, turning away from the group of Hogwarts students and Remus Lupin she had nervously been talking to.

Arthur whipped around, too, a look of shock, then almost immediate anger washing over him.

"Molly, I thought I told you to—"

"_Silencio_!"

Before he could finish scolding her, Molly whipped out her wand and applied a small Silencing Charm to her husband.

"I know what you told me, Arthur, but my children are here. My children are here, so I have to be. I'm not going to argue about this."

He sighed, or at least he would have, could he have been heard, and nodded, defeated.

Molly smiled sadly as she lifted the charm, and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

"At least promise me you'll be careful?" he asked. "That you won't do anything reckless?"

"If I can avoid it, I will," she nodded, then stepped back, demonstrating the Concealment on the cloak by opening and closing the folds around her. "And look what Aberforth gave me. No one will see the belly so I might move with a little more anonymity."

"You haven't been that thin for months," Fred called, trying to lighten the mood.

"Watch it, you," his parents called in unison.

Just then, they heard the clatter of footsteps down the entrance stairs and Harry burst into sight, bruised and breathless.

"Harry!" Molly cried, rushing to him and crushing him into a long-overdue embrace. "My boy! Are you alright? Is Ron?"

"He's fine!" Harry replied, pulling back gently. "We're all fine… for now. What are you all doing here?"

"The DA coins," Fred explained. "Neville activated them, and we sent the message along. We had to."

"What's the plan?" George asked. "What's going on?"

"They're getting the younger kids ready for an evacuation and everyone's gathering down in the Great Hall," Harry replied. "We're fighting."

"Where's Ron and Hermione?" Molly asked, suddenly looking more worried.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," said Harry quickly.

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'm sure they went up to the Great Hall already," said Arthur, trying to ease their fears.

With that, most of the crowd darted for the door, poised to begin battle.

"I thought I heard them mention a bathroom," Seamus Finnegan called behind him as he raced up the stairs toward the hallway.

Within moments, only a few people remained, the Weasleys and Lupin among them, turning around as Ginny crawled through the tunnel opening.

"Ginny!" Molly shouted angrily. "You turn around and take yourself right back down that tunnel. What did I say?"

"I'll kill that Aberforth!" she added under her breath.

"I'm not going!" Ginny yelled back. "I won't! I'm in Dumbledore's Army! We've a same duty to fight as all of you!"

Molly was about to argue when another clump of red-hair tumbled in from the open portrait.

"Am I too late?" Percy asked, the familiar goofy Weasley grin slapped across his normally stern face.

The rest of the room was shocked into silence.

"Has it started yet? I only just found out, so I—I—"

Everyone continued to stare at him, and he sighed, trying to explain himself.

"I was a fool, alright?" he announced. "I was an idiot, a pompous prat! I was a—a—"

"Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron?" asked Fred.

"Yes, I was," Percy sighed, humbled.

Molly burst into tears, rushing to her prodigal son, wrapping him in a hug so tight she might have strangled him.

"Oh, Percy," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Hi, Mum," he said gently, pulling back and wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb across her cheek. "I'm so sorry. You, too, Dad. I'm so terribly sorry."

Arthur and Molly smiled softly.

"You're here now. That's all that matters," she said.

"And you're alright?" he continued. "The baby? Everything?"

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, surprised, but was ignored.

Molly nodded, grinning, and pulled back the cloak, exposing her baby bump. "Doing fine. And before you scold me, too, I wasn't going to sit around while my children fought for me. No arguments."

"Let's go, then," George interrupted. "Before all the good Death Eaters are taken."

"Wait, your Mum's pregnant?" Harry whispered to Ginny during the whole exchange, who nodded impatiently as she began to slowly sneak towards the door.

"Ginny!" Molly's voice caught her.

"No, you're—"

"Molly, wait!" Lupin's voice of reason stopped everyone. "Why doesn't Ginny stay here, then at least she'll be on the scene and know what's going on, but she won't be in the middle of the fighting?"

"Well…"

"I think it's a good idea," Arthur said firmly. "You can stay with her, too, Molly."

"Like hell I will, Arthur," she replied with a snort. "But, I suppose if she stays here…"

Ginny nodded begrudgingly, and with that, everyone else raced from the room, just as Harry's scar leapt to life, his vision clouded for the moment with the sight of Voldemort leading his legions toward the castle, wands drawn to kill.


	13. Duels, Dittany, and a Dreadful Discovery

Within the space of ten minutes, all of the Weasleys, save for Ginny and Ron, were seated anxiously at the Gryffindor table. McGonagall had organized the evacuation, and all but the students of age (or those younger who'd managed to slip past Minerva's watchful eyes) remained, their faces set in varying degrees of determination, anger, and fear.

Then Kingsley, their leader, looking grim, his dark eyes set on the crowd that sat before him.

"We've only got half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast! A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Flitwich, Sprout, and McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest towers—Ravenclaw, Astronomy, and Gryffindor—where they'll have a good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile, Remus, Arthur—"

Molly squeezed her husband's hand tightly under the table.

"—and I will take groups into the grounds."

Molly's eyes snapped toward her husband.

"Arthur, you can't," she whispered. "It's the first line of defense. You and Remus have children, families. Can't they get someone else to do it? Put you somewhere less risky?"

"I've got to," he shook his head. "We're part of the Order. We agreed to do whatever it takes. Besides, if Harry's right about Voldemort being on his way, there's no place less risky."

He kissed her quickly, but with a passion of someone who needed the kiss to last him for a long time, and marched up to join his leader on the dais.

Molly was about to call after him when, from her left, she heard her twins stand.

"Sounds like a job for us," Fred called to Shacklebolt, who nodded approvingly.

Molly stood and grabbed George's arm, alarmed. "What sounds like a job for you? What did you agree to?"

"We're leading defenders to guard the passageways," he replied.

"Oh, my God," she murmured, her knees threatening to buckle.

Fred came around and grabbed her other arm to steady her.

"No one knows the ins and out and secret places around here like we do, Mum," he said.

"How do you think we managed to keep in business for so many years here?" George asked, trying to lighten the moment.

Molly nodded, slowly, tears beginning to creep down her cheeks.

"Alright," Kingsley announced from the lectern at the front of the room. "Leaders up here and we'll divide up the troops."

"We've got to go," George said, leaning down to hug his mother.

She looked into his face, and, her eyes shining with tears, realized in that moment just how grown up her boys were. Not even boys anymore, really. Fred and George. Her men.

Fred embraced his mother as well. "We'll be safe, I promise."

He punctuated the last statement with a peck on the cheek before joining his brother as they jogged up to Kingsley and the gathering crowd.

Molly's hand flew to her cheek, savoring the memory of that kiss, willing it to protect her sons as they took on dangers well beyond their years and experience.

Soon, the students, Order members, and other defenders had thinned, marching out of the room like the defending army they were and only herself, Kingsley, Poppy Pomfrey, and a few nervous-looking seventh-year girls remained.

Kingsley approached a few final people, giving them orders on where to be, and then moved on to Molly.

"Alright, now, Molly—" he started, but she cut him off.

"Kingsley, you're not going to send me home," she said. "I won't do it. I know it's foolish and reckless, but my family's here. There's nowhere else I can be."

"Relax," he sighed, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I'm not even going to try, much as I may want to. You wouldn't listen to me even if I did."

"Then where do you want me?" she asked, beginning to babble. "I'm good with Charms work. I—I have a fair number of jinxes and hexes in my arsenal—I—uh—I was—I was in Dueling Club during school. I can—"

"Molly," Kingsley said, cutting her off, "I don't want you fighting. Not because I don't think you can do it, because, quite frankly, you scare the hell out of me even more than my own mum ever did—"

The both chuckled nervously, humorlessly.

"—but I need you here even more," he replied with an air of finality. "I won't mince words. I expect we're going to have a lot of wounded, a lot of injured and we'll need capable people to attend them. Poppy's just one witch, with a few scared girls to work with and she'll need help from someone who's qualified."

Molly nodded, a strange mixture of relief and anxiety playing across her features.

"I've got to go. There's no time," he squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Every half hour, either I or one of the other Order members will send out our Patronus to give report here. If you or Poppy need help, you do the same. I'll be stationing a couple of house-elves in here in a few minutes to help with Disapparition of the wounded in an event of an evacuation."

He began to jog away, whipping his ebony wand from beneath his sleeves.

"Kingsley!" Molly shouted after him.

He turned.

"Thank you," she called, clutching her faux-flat stomach, its true secret hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. "Thank you for trying to keep me safe despite my stubbornness."

"Good luck, Molly!" he called, turning around and disappearing around the corner.

"And you," she muttered to herself, forcing down another bout of tears that threatened to spill. "All of you."

Within half an hour, though, Molly found herself too busy for crying as the first of the wounded began to trickle in. It started small, broken wrists or concussions or other minor or easily treatable injuries sustained from trips and falls or jostling around in the dark courtyards. Soon, though, Kingsley's Patronus found its way into the Hall and announced the Death Eaters were in sight, some of them having breached the protections around the school and were now on the grounds.

From there, things quickly escalated. Casualties started coming, and Molly's heart stopped each time she had to look into the face of the wounded carried in, deathly afraid she would recognize it as one of her family's. Burns and blood and the eerily strange telltale signs of magic so dark Molly had never seen it before assaulted her senses. Her wand hand trembled as she recited incantations for healing or tried to Summon the Dittany bottle. More frightening still were the times when she knew she could do nothing, that the only thing she could do to ease the suffering of their painful wounds was to hold their hands, wipe their brows, and murmur words of comfort.

After a while, supplies began to run low, and even the few students who had stayed behind to help Poppy and Molly at Kingsley's orders had felt urgings to go to the front of the battle and all but one had abandoned their post at the makeshift hospital. Finally, Poppy called to her from across the Hall, her hand pressed tight to a shoulder wound as she fumbled to open a bottle of potion with the other.

"Molly! We need bandages, potions, everything! What do you have with you over there?"

Molly glanced down at what she had, even as she smeared the last of the Burn-Healing Paste on the cheek of a young man in torn and dirtied Ravenclaw robes whose blue eyes reminded her of her sons.

"Not much left here, either," Molly called back, worriedly. "Can you Summon some more?"

Poppy shook her head, her voice quivering even as she tried to maintain calm. "I had to start keeping my medical stores locked this year. The Carrows used to steal them so they could withhold treatments for the injuries they caused."

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Molly, shocked at the cruelty the students must have endured that year.

"I'm going to have to go up to the hospital wing for more supplies," Madame Pomfrey said gravely, trying her best not to jump at the explosions and flashes of light that shook even the solid stone walls of the Hall.

Molly stared at the carnage surrounding them, the groans of the wounded, the shouts drifting in from the grounds through the windows, each fresh sound and sight driving her to madness. Steeling herself, she turned to the matron, her mind made up.

"I'll go."

"Molly, you can't," replied Poppy. "I know exactly where to find everything. It'll be much faster and safer if I go."

"These people need you more than they need me," Molly answered, shaking her head and rising from her knees, slipping the hood of her cloak around her face. "You're trained at this. You can do more without the supplies than I ever could. I'll be fast. I'll be careful."

Seeing the skeptical look on the other woman's face and thankful that Pomfrey knew not of her pregnancy, still concealed under the cloak, she continued. "I'll Disillusion myself. It doesn't have to be a very good one or last a long time, just enough to sneak there and back without notice. Trust me."

Pomfrey gave the barest hint of a nod and before she could change her mind, Molly tapped her wand to her head, shivering as she felt it take effect, and she dissolved out of sight.

"Now," Poppy said quickly, "everything you'll need is in the closet hidden behind the portrait of Rosetta Birchill to the left of the hospital wing entrance. The password you need to get in is 'health and happiness.' Are you sure about this, Molly?"

She nodded, though Pomfrey saw only a slight shimmer where she stood.

"Be safe."

Slipping through the heavy doors, Molly began to make her way upstairs, jumping with each distant explosion, noting with horror how each new one seemed closer and louder than the next. The staircases were still untouched, but shuddered and moved erratically, as if they could somehow sense what was to come. Finally, after a quick trot down the corridor to the Hospital Wing as fast as her swollen ankles could carry her, Molly arrived at the portrait Poppy had mentioned.

"Health—" Molly huffed, trying to catch her breath, "and happiness."

The painting swung open, revealing a huge room filled with a stock that would put St Mungo's to shame. Knowing she'd need a great deal of almost everything, Molly grabbed a pillowcase from the shelf to her left and muttered an Extension Charm over it so that all she needed could fit. Not bothering to look for specific items, she grabbed potion bottles left and right, stuffed in rolls and rolls of bandages, everything within reach, until it was so heavy she could barely carry it. A few more bottles of this and that stuffed into her apron pockets just for good measure, and she was done. Fastening the bag closed, she levitated it and began to make her way back down toward the Great Hall, biting her lip with worry as she began to hear more shouts and cries, this time seeming to come from _inside the castle_.

Molly rushed back toward the stairs, the bag of medical supplies floating behind her, when all of a sudden, as she reached the landing, she heard yet another explosion, and began to see the telltale dust billow out into the Grand Staircase. Her first inclination was to hurry even faster back toward Poppy and her nursing duties, an echoing wail from above tugged at her, making her turn back.

She hesitated. This was too dangerous, too risky, she had no way of knowing who it was that screamed or why. If she went up there, she could very well find herself nose to nose with one of Voldemort's minions, which would be a death sentence for her and her child.

Still, though… something pulled her, called to her that she needed to be there, had to follow the sound, and, holding a hand to her face to make sure the Disillusionment Charm was still in place, she whipped her wand over the bag of supplies and sent it drifting down the stairs toward the Great Hall.

Climbing up several staircases, her wand in one hand, bottle of Dittany in the other (just in case), Molly finally reached the floor where the explosion had come from, shocked at what she saw. The dust was still clearing, but through it, she saw a gaping hole in one of the walls, and through it, dark-robed men rushing through the open cavern behind it.

"Death Eaters," she whispered, shuddering, her eyes wide.

Before she could turn and run, Molly heard a shout and a flash of red hair and turned just in time to see Harry, followed quickly by Hermione and a struggling Ron. Just as quickly as she saw them, they vanished, running further down the hall and out of sight.

Upon closer inspection, Molly saw that two more of her children, Percy, who looked blind with rage, storming in the opposite direction of the trio, wand drawn and looking to kill, and George, crouched over someone near a small alcove looking utterly distraught.

"Please God, no," she whispered to herself, beginning to tremble violently, as it began to dawn on her who it was George was with.

The bottle of Dittany fell from her hand, shattering into a million pieces on the stone floor. The sound roused George from his trance and he pointed his wand in her direction.

"Show yourself," he commanded, his voice quivering.

"It's me," she called, quickly she relieved herself of the Disillusionment and rushing to his side, gasping as she realized the body he knelt over was Fred's.

"Mum?" George asked, surprised, his face streaked with tears and grime.

"My boy," she whispered, breathless, as she dropped to her knees by her fallen son's side, cradling his head in her arms, his face still frozen in a perpetual half-smile. "Oh, my boy. What have they done to you?"

"Mum, it was—" George tried to speak, his voice sounding soft and small and without a trace of the humor that it usually held, but she ignored him.

"You'll be alright, Freddie," she muttered frantically, grabbing the extra supplies she had stashed in her pockets, her hands shaking violently as she fumbled around, trying to do something. "you're going to be just fine."

"Mum…"

"We just have to—just have to—just—"

"Mum," George said weakly, the anguish contorting his face almost unrecognizably, "He's—"

"No, he's not," Molly replied insistently. "He's going to be alright, won't you, Fred? He—he can't be—_that_—he's only twenty. Just a baby. Come on, let's see here."

She gently laid his head back down on the ground, and, with considerable effort, leaned down and pressed her ear to his chest, determined to hear the beating of his heart, the flutter of a pulse, anything, anything at all to offer hope that Fred yet lived. Hearing none, she began to get hysterical.

"Fred, please Fred," she cried, grabbing at his torn and bloodied shirt. "You can't be. Please, wake up, just wake up. Oh, God…"

She threw herself over the body, sobbing uncontrollably. George, torn between his own grief and his need to comfort his mother, leaned back, nearly numb, wishing he'd wake up from the nightmare in which he was trapped. The sounds of the battle and duels became louder, closer, and after a while, he prodded his mother, trying to get her to move on, for her own safety.

"Mum, come on," he began, shaking her gently, "we can't be here. We've got to go."

"No," came her muffled reply, broken up by more sobbing, "I can't leave him. He's my boy."

Finally, another explosion burst mere feet from where they knelt, and George knew he had to act, grabbing his mother by the shoulders and wrenching her up to face him.

"Mum, we've got to go. They're getting closer. We're outnumbered and in no fit state to fight. Please, let's go."

She blinked several times, fighting the tears that still fell, and finally gave a small nod.

"Alright, now," he gripped her hand tightly, his chest heaving with adrenaline, "put your hood back up and when I say go, you run towards the stairwell. Go back down to the Great Hall and send out a Patronus to say what happened. I'll set some fireworks off as a distraction, and then I'm going to go use some of my old shortcuts to try and draw them towards some traps we've set up in the opposite direction. Okay?"

She nodded again, amazed at how grown-up he sounded in that instant.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Wait," Molly replied suddenly. "Before we do this, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Keep you and your brother safe," she said, cupping his face in her hands, "Don't let them hurt either of you more than they already have."

He nodded, wrapping her in one last hug. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you, too, Darling," Molly murmured as George readied himself, the grief in his eyes momentarily replaced by grim determination, knowing that, like his mother, he did not have the luxury of properly mourning his brother yet. For now, he had to fight for the living, before he could begin to weep for the dead.

"Okay, Mum, ready… GO!"

Instantly, Molly was off, running as fast as she was able back toward the main staircase, one hand gripping tight to her stomach as if to protect it, only barely able to see through the smoke and flashes of George's fireworks. Bursting out onto the stair landing, she turned and paused, just for a moment, to see if she could see him, but behind her was only blackness, deep, consuming blackness, and hear his long, rage-filled shout as it echoed further and further down the hall, drawing any possible attackers in the opposite direction.

_Must have been his darkness powder_, Molly thought, torn between the choice of upstairs or down. _Now what am I supposed to do?_

_Down to the Great Hall_, she thought, _that's where I'm supposed to be, but…_

_Ginny._

Though she knew that, by all accounts, she shouldn't, that Ginny was secure in her fortified room with its escape route, in that moment, so soon after practically witnessing the death of one child, she needed to see, hear, embrace her daughter, if only to prove to herself that she was okay, was safe, was still yet living.

Biting her lip, Molly Weasley began her ascent to the seventh floor.

_**Happy Easter, everyone! I know this could probably be written better, but I struggled with this chapter, as I really wished I could have let Fred live and it was so difficult to try and rehash that part of DH. He's one of my favorite characters and I always hate reading the scene of his death, but I really felt that, not only was it important to try and stick to canon, I have some ideas I really wanted to explore later on in the story that deal with the impact of Fred's demise. Also, I probably could have broken up the chapter a bit more, but couldn't find the place where it truly seemed to work as a couple of chapters rather than one long one. Oh, well, I hope you like it anyway. **___


	14. A Mother's Fight

_**I hope everyone had a Happy Easter or, at the very least, a lovely weekend this past weekend, and to celebrate, here's the next installment of our story! This chapter was actually the first one I wrote, several weeks ago, and I've kept going back to do rewrites on it, as the rest of the story developed. Please, please, please review. This has been my favorite chapter, and for many of you, the moment you've been waiting for! There's still a few more chapters to go, and the more reviews I can get, the faster I'll write and post the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy it. Again, I know it's a long chapter, and I had a couple of places where I could have broken it up, but I really thought that, again, I needed to sustain the action a bit longer, even if it might have rushed a little bit. Thanks again for all of your support and I hope you enjoy!**_

Throughout Hogwarts, the battle raged on. The air was thick with smoke and dust, light from vari-cast spells glowing in each corner. All around her shouts and screams from hundreds of voices, both friend and foe, rent the air, but Molly Weasley took no notice. The death of her son, her Fred, her funny, friendly, mischievous boy, weighed heavily on her, so fresh his flesh was not yet cold, and though the thundering war around her offered no real chance to mourn, Molly wandered quickly but numbly through Hogwarts' corridors, abandoning her medi-witch duties and the search for more injured, desperately seeking the faces of her remaining family instead.

Percy and George were alive and unhurt the last time she had seen them, but, given all that seemed to be going on, she feared to think what might have happened to them since. She had seen Ron briefly in passing right after the blast that took Fred's life, but almost immediately he'd been pulled away, driven onward by the bubbling forces of duty and revenge and Molly wasn't quite sure, in that moment, which she hoped he'd act upon. Whatever it was, Hermione, clever sweet Hermione, would see him through it safely. Arthur was somewhere about, with Bill, and, based on his last Patronus (which, thankfully, she had found, was sent to a person, rather than a location, so Arthur might not even realize yet that she had abandoned her post in the Great Hall). They still didn't know of Fred's fate, and it tore at her even more to think of what they'd do when they found out about their son and brother. Ginny, thankfully, was safe in the Room of Requirement, away from the fray, and, touching a hand to her stomach as the child within her kicked, Molly carefully and quickly made her way to the seventh floor corridor to confirm her daughter's welfare.

As she went, her thoughts strayed to Harry, so close he might have been a son in another life, another time, and her heartbeat quickened as she fretted over his fate. _No_, she thought_, you can't think that way, Molly. He was a boy before, and survived so many times. Life has made him a man and will see to it he comes through. He will live, he must._

She chanted that to herself as she walked, helping her to beat a quick rhythm as her hard-heeled shoes echoed on the stone.

_He will live._

_He must._

_He will live._

_He must._

Though the staircases acted erratically from the stray curses and jinxes that had hit them, and duelists still dotted the halls, Molly was able to travel nearly undetected, her expectant stomach and ginger hair concealed under her cloak and hood, and the few faces who did recognize along the way dismissed her with a knowing nod of encouragement as they fought their own battles.

Reaching the room in what seemed like an agonizingly long time later, she did the requisite pacing and thinking as needed to cause its appearance, ignoring a familiar twinge in her abdomen. Finally, the door emerged, and Molly burst through, gasping when she found it empty. For the second time that night, she allowed the tears that welled up in her eyes to fall, hot bitter tears that stung her eyes and slid down her plump face.

"Lookin' for the little ginger girl?" an Irish-lilted voice called behind her.

Molly turned, finding herself face-to-face with the portrait of Alameda Corcoran, the legendary nineteenth century healer.

"Y-yes," she nodded, trying to keep her lip from quivering. "That's Ginny. M-my daughter."

"She left a while ago. At least an hour. Harry needed the Room, so he told her to wait outside, and then get right back inside when he was done, but as soon as she got out, she just took off down the hall. Said she had to fight," the portrait replied. "I tried to stop her. She looked so young."

"Oh, Merlin!" Molly gasped, both at the revelation and the sudden sharp pain that wrenched through her.

The portrait witch looked concerned. "Are you alright, Dear? You know you shouldn't be walkin' around in this condition. You look like you're due any day."

Molly bit her lip and nodded, beginning to trot back down toward the Great Hall.

"Thanks," she called over her shoulder.

Once she rounded the corner, she stopped and gasped, a fresh pain stabbing into her, making her wince uncontrollably. She staggered slowly back toward the staircase gripping the walls for support, and a trip that would normally take moments became a multi-minute ordeal before she finally stepped onto the stairs and felt it begin to move.

_Oh, my,_ Molly thought, gripping the railing tight as the staircase swung beneath her feet and suddenly felt a rush of warm liquid as it splashed to the stone steps beneath her. _My waters have broken! I think I'm going into labor!_

Shaking worries of the inevitable away, she continued to struggle down, each of the seven floors becoming a battle in and of itself, determined to make it back to the Great Hall where the biggest commotion now seemed to be coming from. Once there, she reasoned, she'd find Ginny, who, like the rest of her children, it seemed, had no problem finding trouble when it presented itself.

_They must get that from my side_, Molly thought with pride momentarily despite herself, as she descended yet another flight.

Finally, nearly half an hour gone by, fighting an ever-growing crowd for position, she reached the massive doorway that led to the Great Hall, its doors having been blasted from their giant hinges long ago. Her wand still clutched tightly underneath the folds of her cloak, she rushed in with a surging throng of people, quickly pressing herself against the wall as she murmured a temporary protective charm over her unborn child, praying for the telltale flash of Ginny's copper hair. What she saw, however, made her gasp.

All hell had broken loose. Centaurs' arrows flew through the windows, aimed at the hearts of Death Eaters. Giants and trolls roared and grunted outside the broken panes of the Great Hall, and the sounds of shouts and screams of the living mixed with the sight of the bodies of the fallen made the terror complete. Over in the corner, she spotted amongst the dead Tonks and Lupin, such dear friends who had struggled so to complete each other in life, and who now, in death, had now found each other again, leaving behind them a son not quite a month old.

Then Molly heard something that made her blood run cold.

"He's dead!" someone yelled, "Harry's dead!"

"_Noooooo_!" screamed another voice, a haunting, primal, guttural wail, which Molly swore sounded like McGonagall.

A collective sob rushed through the room, Molly included.

Then came the murmurs.

"The body's gone…"

"Where is he?"

"You-Know-Who's got him still…."

Molly stopped in her tracks, her knees threatening to buckle, as she thought of Harry, ignoring for a moment the continued madness surrounding her. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not this. She'd already lost one child. How could the fates be so cruel as to take away a second, for she'd long since come to consider Harry as one of her own, as for years she'd been the one feeding him, comforting him, providing for him emotionally the way his late mother could not. She loved him like she did all her sons, and this news of his death was a hard blow to take. At least with Fred, she knew where he lay, that he was safe, his family near, private goodbyes whispered into his unhearing ears. There was closure there, however small it was, and even though it was still a wound she knew would never fully heal. But Harry… No one even seemed to know where he was now, what that bastard Voldemort had done with him, his poor young body broken and alone in the dark somewhere, denied even the comfort of loved ones around in his final moments.

She winced as another contraction hit her, muttering thanks to Merlin that they were still coming irregularly. She scanned the room again, and her heart nearly stopped.

It was _him_.

Voldemort, himself, had, as promised, entered the battle, his grey, serpentine face screwed up in an unholy rage as he whipped his wand through the air in a duel. It was mesmerizing, the sight, not only because of his strange, inhuman appearance, which, despite all she'd heard about him over the years, she could not remember ever having actually seen his face, but because of _whom_ he was dueling. Not one, but three of the greatest living wizards she knew, Minerva McGonagall, Horace Slughorn, her old potions master, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, their own faces set in cold determination, belied by the fear and uncertainty in their eyes.

Molly's eyes tore themselves from that fight to the one going on just beyond. It was Bellatrix Lestrange, looking more psychotic than ever, her black hair flying, giggling madly, murderously as she, too, dueled three.

"Oh, Merlin," Molly moaned, noticing whom it was that Bellatrix was fighting, her hands underneath her cloak gripping tightly to her wand and belly, respectively.

Not even enough honor to duel someone her age, her skill, Bellatrix was dueling children, her children, her Ginny, her Hermione, and their sweet little friend Luna, of whom Molly was also quite fond. She watched in horror, paralyzed with fear, as the girls dueled, casting and dodging with a talent and expertise far beyond their years and schooling.

_Must have been Harry's DA_, Molly thought with a surge of maternal pride, which turned immediately into pain as she thought of how much she'd miss the sweet, bespectacled boy she'd come to know as her son.

Just then, she saw the eerily familiar green jet of a Killing Curse shoot from Bellatrix's wand, missing Ginny by inches. Molly didn't think, her mind turning to auto-pilot as she threw her cloak from her back and ran at the once-beautiful Death Eater.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

Molly could hardly believe the words that came from her mouth, but could not, would not stop herself. She surged forward to face this foe with no hesitation, no thought for what the consequences could be, only that she must protect the children she had left. She could not allow this woman, this Death Eater, this deranged sorceress to take any more lives, destroy any more families, least of all her own.

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

Forcing the girls aside, Molly flicked her wand toward Bellatrix and began to duel. Bella was quick, throwing curse after curse, each one with deadly intent, but Molly, somehow, was quicker, ducking and dodging them with a startling grace, despite the ungainliness of her nine months pregnant form, in labor no less, and shot spell after spell from her own wand. She didn't think, didn't pause, everything seemed to be coming instinctively, and no one was more surprised than Molly herself.

From the corner of her eye, Molly saw people rushing to help, trying to force an advantage against Lestrange, but she waved them away violently.

"Get back! Get back! She is mine!"

No other innocents would die tonight. Not if Molly could help it. Because of Voldemort and his ilk, nearly everyone she knew had lost family or friends. She herself had already lost too many. Her brothers. Her son. Their murders could not, would not go unpunished any longer. Tonight, Molly would have her revenge. Tonight, Voldemort would lose one of his own.

Bellatrix howled with laughter, her eyes mad, hair whipped and wild with a non-existent wind, at the matronly opponent opposite her, dueling one-handed as her other hand clutched her swollen belly protectively.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" she taunted, but Molly was past listening. "When Mummy's gone the same was as Freddie?"

They continued to circle each other, jinxes flying left and right, none yet finding their mark. The pains tore deeper at Molly and she knew her time was not far off, but still she fought on, knowing she must finish this or die trying.

"At least I'll send you to hell with that whelp you're carrying!" Bellatrix added, gesturing at Molly with her free hand, pale and skeletal, as she giggled insanely.

At that moment, Molly's eyes narrowed. Her focus became sharper. Pushing herself past the hesitation, past the fear, past the increasingly surging pains of childbirth that wracked her, in that moment she knew only determination, determination and the white hot instinctual rage of a lioness protecting her cubs.

Fred's laughing face flashed before her eyes, but a joyful memory of a happy time.

"_You_—"

It was George's face this time, a mirror image of the boy she lost.

"_Will_—"

Bill blinked across her mind's eye, back before he bore the terrible scars gifted him by Fenrir Greyback.

"_Never_—"

Charlie's face now.

"_Touch_—"

Then Percy.

"_Our_—"

Ron, his blue eyes, so much like his father, eyes that had seen too much for his meager age.

"_Children_—"

Ginny's face, dear sweet little Ginny.

"_Again_!"

A final curse shot from her wand, and even before it found its mark, Molly knew that she had won. As the spell surged into Bellatrix Lestrange's heart in a blinding flash of green light, Molly dropped to her knees, her wand clattering noisily on the stone floor of the Great Hall as it fell from her hand.

She never noticed a growing bloodstain beginning to soak through abdomen of her dress.

For the span of half a second, all she could think was _it's done_, knowing in the back of her mind that she was wrong.

The crowd that had gathered along the walls cheered riotously, but Voldemort overtook the sound with a madly raging scream of his own, throwing back his opponents with an inaudible jinx and turned, as if in slow motion, raising his formidable wand and pointed it to her.

She froze, still on her knees, her warm brown eyes staring up at his soulless red ones. At that moment, a surge of agony tore through her, and she collapsed hard onto the stone.

_This must be what Crucio_ _feels like_, she thought in a last second of rationality.

As the world as she knew it began to fade around her and the sound of silence rushed through her ears, Molly heard one last familiar voice cry _Protego_!

The rest was silence, as darkness claimed her for its own.


	15. There's Got to be a Morning After

It was dawn when Molly woke, the pink-gold rays of the morning sun just beginning to peek through the windows of the hospital wing, one of the few places, it seemed, that had escaped the wrath of the battle. Shifting positions, she noticed immediately the lack of the now-familiar weight upon her stomach, and a stab of fear pierced her heart at its absence.

The last thing she remembered was staring down the shaft of Voldemort's wand, seeing his thin, lipless mouth snarl as it curled into the Killing Curse. From there it was a blur, a sudden pain, a yell, and then a spiraling blackness.

"My baby," she whispered sadly, the tears she held for the previous days beginning to fall.

Molly wept, great wracking cries that shook her whole body. She wept for her baby, whose fate she did not know. She wept for Fred, her sweet, funny, sensitive boy, taken so cruelly and before his time, and for his brother George, who had lost half of himself. She wept for Tonks and Remus and for all the fallen, wept for baby Teddy and how he would never know his parents, wept for her children, forced to face horrors no one should have to face. She wept for the survivors, those who would bear the scars, both physically and emotionally, for the rest of their lives.

So lost in her melancholy, Molly did not notice Madam Pomfrey come to her bedside.

"Shhh, Molly, shhh," she soothed, grasping Molly's hand and wiping her face with a cool, damp cloth. "It's over. It's all over."

"What?" Molly replied, confused, trying to stop the flood of tears.

"Harry won. He beat him," Poppy whispered simply, her wizened face curling into a gentle smile. "Voldemort's dead."

"And Harry?" Molly asked immediately, her hand gripping tight to Poppy's wrist as she tried to pull herself up.

"A little worse for the wear," grinned Madam Pomfrey, "but just fine. He's resting now, up in Gryffindor Tower. The rest of the brood were up there, too, last time I checked. Everyone's exhausted. You've been asleep for the better part of two days. I was starting to get worried."

Molly looked around for her husband, but before she could ask, Poppy smiled, pointing to the next bed, where he lay sleeping.

"He's here. He's barely left your side since we brought you in. I had to slip some sleeping potion into his pumpkin juice before he made himself sick."

Molly breathed a sigh of relief, cut short when she felt a sharp pain dig into her chest.

"Careful," warned Madam Pomfrey, "When you passed out, you fell so that you broke a few ribs. I didn't want to risk mending them until you woke up."

"Passed out," Molly murmured quietly, her eyes immediately registering panic as she asked what until now she'd been afraid to for fear of the answer. "The baby?"

"You gave everyone quite a fright, you know," Pomfrey replied briskly, ignoring Molly's question. "Just what were you thinking waltzing into a battle nine months pregnant? And hiding it from everyone under that ratty old cloak? You lost a lot of blood before we were able to control it."

"Blood? Oh, God," moaned Molly. "It's not… I didn't—I didn't lose it, did I?"

"Oh, Merlin, no," Poppy answered with the forced cheerfulness of a decades-cultivated bedside manner, continuing to explain things in her usual no-nonsense way. "Everything's fine. During your duel, you must have taken a stray curse to the stomach. Nothing too serious, just a grazing, looks like. Probably didn't even feel it the way you were fighting. We fixed you up just fine. Everyone's fine, Molly, I promise."

"My baby, I want my baby," was all Molly could muster, unable to process everything she'd just been told.

"Wait a moment," Poppy replied, softening, swiftly leaving the room.

Molly lay there, worrying, still smarting from the intermittent jolts of pain from her ribs, her only comfort staring at the next bed where Arthur lay. He must have sensed her presence, because after a few moments, his eyes fluttered open.

"Molly," he whispered, throwing off the sheet and rushing to her side.

He looked like hell. Face pale, unshaven, three days' worth of stubble smattered across his chin. His blue eyes, those beautiful cornflower orbs, were now red with exhaustion and tears.

"Arthur," she returned weakly, opening her arms to embrace him.

"Fred's gone, Arthur. My boy's gone."

He nodded sadly, no words he could say could offer any comfort.

They held each other for what seemed like an eternity and sobbed, Molly marveling to herself that she even had tears left to shed. They knew this was something that could not be truly dealt with at that moment, that it would take weeks, months, years before the sharp pain of their son's demise would even begin to ebb into a bearable ache. Finally, they pulled apart, nodding in silent understanding that for the moment, the loss was too fresh to speak of, that in the coming hours and days, they'd have plenty of time to address it verbally. For now, they'd hold it to their hearts. When it was time to speak of it, it would come out.

"My God, Molly," he muttered finally, "I thought I'd lost you, too."

"You'll never get rid of me," Molly replied, running her fingers through his hair.

"When he pointed the wand at you, and you dropped," Arthur started, the events replaying in his mind, "and then you started to labor—all that blood—"

"The baby," Molly replied instantly. "Have you seen it? Is everything—"

"Beautiful," he said, a half smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Absolutely perfect."

She sighed, relieved.

"Boy again?" she asked, "Or do we have another gorgeous daughter?"

Arthur seemed a bit nervous, but not exactly upset.

"Well, actually…" he began, beginning to sputter.

"Actually," Minerva McGonagall's voice called as she strode into the room, Pomfrey trailing behind her, each of them holding a small bundle in their arms, "You've got both."

"It's twins," smiled Arthur sadly, reminded of his elder twins, now separated for eternity, "A boy and a girl."

"What?"

Molly was dumbfounded, even as she reached out her arms greedily for her babies. "How's that possible? I mean, I checked myself every which way from the healer's manual, and—"

"And we've still got twins," Arthur replied. "It happens."

Her eyes began to well up again, as she was again reminded of Fred.

Poppy silently motioned for Minerva, and the two of them tiptoed away from the bed, putting a privacy screen around the Weasleys, leaving the new parents to bond with their new twins, to mourn their old, and to discuss their future as a family.

Arthur kissed his wife's forehead, and she returned her gaze to the little lives in her arms.

"Mollywobbles," he began. "I know it hurts. Everything's happening all at once, and Fr—"

"Don't," she cut him off. "I can't talk about it now. I can't think about it now. I know I'll have to, but… I can't just yet. Let's be happy for a moment. It's what he would have wanted."

Arthur nodded stoically, turning his attention to the infants.

"We do make beautiful babies," he murmured, a small smile coming to his face.

"They're perfect," whispered Molly, her eyes glistening with motherly love, even as her heart ached for the other perfect child she had lost.

"Like their Mum," Arthur replied. "Their brave, beautiful Mum, who defeated the Dark Lord's Dark Lady."

She sighed, her still focused on the gurgling infants.

"I'm not brave. I just did what I had to do."

Arthur kissed her forehead.

"Well," grinned, stroking his daughter's cheek gently. "Two more mouths to feed. And such pretty little mouths they are, too."

"We'll manage. We always do," Molly answered quietly.

Suddenly, a worry crossed her face. "Oh, but, Arthur. How will we? You left the Ministry months ago. You don't have a job."

He looked away, seeming slightly guilty, like the cat who ate the canary. "Actually, that may not be true. I had planned to tell you this later, when you were feeling more like yourself, but—"

"Tell me what, Arthur?"

"Well," he began. "After the battle was over, the general consensus was that we needed to start rebuilding the Ministry as soon as possible, you know, get someone in power to make some much needed decisions. So, they, naturally, picked Kingsley Shacklebolt for the job."

"Kingsley's the new Minister?" Molly asked.

Arthur nodded.

"Oh, please tell me he gave you your old job back."

"Not exactly," he replied slowly.

"What, then?"

"Last night, Kingsley came in to see how you were doing and he and I got to talking about the future, what's to happen, things like that. And, well…"

Molly smiled. "Arthur, just tell me."

"He offered me the position of Deputy Minister, Molly. Deputy Minister of Magic."

"What?" she gasped. "He did what?"

"It's crazy, I know," he replied, still looking grave.

"I mean," started Molly, sputtering, "it's an honor. I should be thrilled. I—I am. I just—it's a big job, and—"

Arthur sighed, though decidedly not out of disappointment. "Relax, Darling. I turned him down."

Molly stared up at her husband in awe.

"You did?"

"Of course I did," he grinned. "I'm not a power player, Molly. You know that. I'm crazy old man Weasley with the spark plug collection in my shed. I think Kingsley sort of knew that even when he asked me."

"So where do we go from here?" Molly asked.

"Actually, Kingsley seems to appreciate my fondness for all things Muggle," Arthur replied, "and he's asked me to head up a new Ministry department he's planning to implement. You are looking at the new Director of the Muggle Liaison Department."

"Muggle Liaison?"

Arthur grinned. "They'll be shifting offices from some of the other departments. Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, Obliviator Headquarters, Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, things like that, as well as a specific office dealing with crimes and prejudices perpetrated against Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Half-bloods."

"That's… that's amazing!" replied Molly, awestruck. "My God, Arthur, it's your dream."

"You're my dream," he answered. "My family's my dream. Now I just have a better means to provide for you all."

Molly looked to him, tears in her eyes. "You already do. More than you ever know."

Arthur leaned over, careful of his children's place in Molly's arms, and kissed her, long and slow and sweet.

"Now, then, enough of that" she replied, her cheeks flushed. "We have some names to think of."

_**Sorry for the cliffhanger with the names, lol… I'll be posting the next chapter, with names for the new little Weasleys as soon as I get 10 more reviews… I don't want to be one of those people who hold my stories hostage, but I really love getting reviews and feedback, so just for this chapter, I want to offer a little more incentive to offer a review, lol… Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far. Your support means a lot. The story is winding down, only a few chapters to go, but I'm working really hard to make sure they're the quality that you, the reader, deserves. Enjoy!**_


	16. Meeting the Family

_**Thanks so much for the reviews! Keep it up, I love it! I know I said I'd wait until there were 10 reviews, but I just couldn't wait, so here it is, the moment many of you seemed to be waiting for. Names for the newest Weasleys! I'm glad I surprised you with the twins… unusual I know, but that'll be explained a little more in this chapter. Only a few more to go!**_

It seemed to Molly, with the large crowd that stood around her hospital bed later that day, that almost the whole of Hogwarts was there. All of her children, save Fred of course, she thought sadly, as well as Fleur, Harry, and Hermione were there. With them were Professor McGonagall; Andromeda Tonks, who had arrived once the Battle had ended to claim the bodies of her daughter and son-in-law, who now held her infant grandson Teddy; Luna Lovegood, whose father, for the time being, was still imprisoned in Azkaban; and Hagrid, who beamed down from the back of the assembled crowd.

"Well?" Hermione asked, finally, holding out her arms to hold one of the new babies.

"Well, what?" Molly tried to sound innocent as she handed a baby to Hermione to hold.

"Names," she sighed, smiling slightly, cuddling the infant girl in her arms. "Do you have names for them yet?"

"We were just discussing that before you came in," Molly replied, glancing at her husband.

They turned to Andromeda Tonks, standing off to the side, who cradled her now-orphaned grandson, and, Molly had found out earlier that morning, her godson, the duties of which she shared with none other than Harry Potter.

" 'Dromeda," began Molly, sounding a bit unsure, "if it's alright with you, we'd like to call her Dora, after your daughter."

"She would have loved that," Andromeda replied with a watery smile, her voice thick with emotion. "She always hated the 'Nympha' part."

She cuddled her grandson close to her. "Thank you, Molly."

Molly continued. "Her middle name's to be Fabia, after my brother."

"Dora Fabia," Ron murmured, dumbstruck, as he gently stroked his newborn sister's hair as Hermione cradled her, still shocked that he had missed his mother's entire pregnancy in the months he'd been gone and only learned of it within the past 48 hours. Even so, his look quickly transformed, love and awe twinkling in his eyes when he noticed how beautiful, how natural it seemed to see his 'Mione with a baby in her arms.

"And as for this little man," Arthur pressed on, gently lifting the other baby from his wife's arms, "we had a few ideas for that. I suggested, given the events of the past, oh, I don't, seventeen years, and how much he means to all of us, that we call him Harry."

Harry blushed with embarrassment, as everyone began to offer enthusiastic congratulations.

"But, I said no," Molly said loudly over the din, leaving everyone suddenly silent and puzzled as Harry flushed even further, though this time with shame at his presumptuousness.

"I said no," Molly repeated, "because it simply wouldn't do to have two sons named Harry."

In an instant, Harry was by her side, hugging her as fiercely as he dared without hurting her.

Lips pressed close to her ear so that only she could hear him, he muttered, hoarse with emotion, "My mother would be so happy to know I've got a mum like you."

Molly let out a small, strangled cry that fell somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

Their embrace lasted an eternity, healing both of them of wounds they knew would never truly leave them.

At last Molly pulled away, and as she did, she noticed tears in the eyes of all those that stood around her.

"Alright, then," she composed herself, but just barely, "After much discussion, Arthur and I decided that his name is Gideon. Gideon Fr—"

Her voice caught in her throat and she could not continue.

"Gideon Frederick Weasley," Arthur took over, though he was holding back tears of his own. "Your uncles and brother were some of the bravest wizards I knew. They never really got to grow up, never got to have children of their own, never got to see the generations they fought for have peace."

"We hope these babies will grow up with that peace," Molly added tearfully.

At that moment, amidst the quiet but watery smiles of their friends and family, Molly caught sight of George, hanging back, his face still ashen and haunted, to no one's surprise considering the depth of his loss. After a moment, she saw him slowly slink out of the room, unable to allow himself to be a part of the celebration, however subdued it was. She had expected no less.

She glanced at Arthur, who noticed the same thing, and gave him a telling nod.

"Alright, everyone," he called, gathering the attention of the room, "Why don't we go downstairs and have some lunch. I can't be the only one feeling a bit peaky."

His request was met with a chorus of complaints, everyone wanting to crowd some more about the new babies.

"You heard you father," Molly agreed, her stern maternal glance garnering no protests as she motioned for the babies to be returned to her arms. "Besides, I've got to feed these two and I really don't feel the need for an audience while I do that. You can come back before dinner."

Slowly, and begrudgingly, the mob shuffled out of the room, Hermione looking disappointed, Ron rather relieved that he didn't have to see his mother nurse his siblings, and Ginny looking positively mutinous that her first visit as a big sister was but short. Soon, only McGonagall remained.

She approached the bed slowly.

"Congratulations, Molly, Dear. I've never seen such beautiful babies."

"Thank you, Min," Molly replied, her eyes still fixed on her children.

McGonagall hesitated, biting her lip.

"I also wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss."

Molly nodded, unable to speak for she knew her words would not come without tears.

"Fred was one of the kindest, funniest, most creative, infuriatingly delightful wizards I have ever had the honor of teaching. Hogwarts has lost a truly wonderful talent. Thank you for the opportunity to know him." Minerva's voice broke as she continued.

"I should be thanking you," Molly replied, her eyes rising to meet the other witch's. "You were his teacher. You were all my children's teacher. If it weren't for what you taught them—"

"I taught them the spells," Minerva interrupted. "You taught them the rest. They are who they are because of you."

Molly didn't respond. Taking her silence as a cue to leave, McGonagall cleared her throat and turned to go.

"Please stay," Molly finally called to her back.

Minerva turned.

"I could use some company while I feed them."

The older witch smiled, returning to Molly's bedside, and transfigured the standard metal visitor's chair into a cozy rocker. Settling herself, she leaned forward and gently accepted Gideon into her arms so the new mother could feed his sister.

They say in silence a few minutes, the only sound the occasional grunts and coos of baby Dora as she nursed. Closing her eyes, Molly sighed.

"It'll never be the same," she said quietly. "We'll never be the same. I'll always have that hole in my heart, where _he's_ supposed to be, won't I?"

"You will," Minerva nodded. "When you love someone as deeply and truly as that, and you lose them, the pain's always there. It doesn't go away. But, as time goes on, you start to remember less of the loss itself and more of the good memories."

She looked away wistfully, a faraway smile on her face, and though no words passed between them, Molly somehow knew she was thinking of Dumbledore.

"It's just—," Molly began, staring at her now-sleeping daughter, "I'm looking at them and all I'm seeing is _him_ as a baby. How can I be a good mother to them when all I see when I look at them is their dead brother?"

McGonagall considered her next words carefully. "I read something in a Muggle book once. It said "children are life renewing itself." Now, you've had seven children before these two. A set of twins once before. You did all those maternity spells. And still, you'd no idea you were expecting twins until you woke up this morning and saw them."

"No, none at all," Molly replied.

"None, whatsoever?"

The new mother rolled her eyes. "Nothing. I wasn't as sick as I was with Fr—with the boys, and I didn't gain nearly as much as I did the last time I carried twins. I mean, back then, I sensed it right away. I knew after a few months it was going to be twins. The Healer was able to prove it without a doubt. This time, just nothing."

Minerva shrugged.

"Well, I'm not one to believe in fates and foolish flights of fancy, but even with all of our understanding of magic in the world, there's still a lot we don't know, a lot we just don't get. Even Albus liked to say that even after all the magic, there's still room for a miracle or two. Now, I could be wrong, but perhaps that was Fred's little way of saying he's still here. That he wants to be remembered as he was. The happy memories. Young and sweet and innocent."

"Maybe not so innocent," Molly gave a small smile, despite her sadness. "I bet you're still finding Puking Pastilles and dung-bombs stashed all about the castle."

They chuckled.

A few more minutes went by and Molly switched infants with Minerva, who gently began trying to coax a burp from the baby she held.

"They really are lovely babies," she said, stroking the fluff of ginger hair on the child in her arms, grinning softly as she heard the familiar happy gurgle of the infant.

Molly smiled. "You're quite good with them. At ease. Babies can tell when you're not."

Ah, well," Minerva replied quietly, looking wistful, "I used to watch my little brothers for my mother when I was a girl. I always thought I might have a child of my own someday, but when I began teaching, I realized that they were all my children, in a manner of speaking."

Molly paused a moment, considering something. After a moment, she spoke.

"You know," she began, "when I first got to Hogwarts and found out you were my teacher, I was terrified. Not because you were supposed to be mean or anything, but I'd heard that you were very strict. They weren't wrong, you know."

Minerva laughed a little.

"But I always knew that you were strict because you wanted the best from us. Because you really cared about the kind of witches and wizards we would become. I admire that."

"Thank you, Dear," McGonagall replied, blushing a bit.

"Dora and Gideon need people like that in their lives, Minerva," Molly said quietly. "People like you. Will you be their Godmother?"

Minerva's eyes widened, surprised at the request. Then, tears in her green eyes, she nodded, her mouth curving into a soft smile as she addressed the baby she held in her arms.

"Hello, little girl," she began, her normally strong Scots-tinged voice softened, almost melodic, "I'm your Auntie Min. Now, we've got a lot of years to get to know each other, but I have to tell you, Darling, I already know I'm going to love you and your brother. Yes, I am."

Molly smiled, happily certain she'd made the right choice, as she cradled her son in her arms while his sister lay with Minerva. As she studied his infant features, she pursed her lips, momentarily saddened as he once again reminded her of her poor Fred, which immediately drew her thoughts to George, whom she knew, in many ways, was suffering even more than she at that moment.

Minerva noticed, her voice quickly pulling Molly from her melancholy.

"I know you sent your husband after him," she started, "but George knows as many hiding places around Hogwarts as Dumbledore himself did. I doubt Arthur will be able to find him."

"But do you know where to find him?" Molly asked softly.

McGonagall sighed. "If you go up to the fourth floor, near the library, by the portrait of Dymphna Melisand, is a narrow corridor, with a small classroom at the end of the hallway. I overheard Mr Potter telling George it would be a good quiet place to think."

Molly nodded, carefully attempting to rise from her bed, hissing in pain as she remembered her still broken ribs.

"Wait a moment," the older witch gently admonished, re-transfiguring the chair into a small, wheel-less levitating pram, just large enough to place the babies gently inside. Another few flicks of her wand, and healing charms had been applied to Molly's chest, offering instant relief. "Be careful. I know there are no more Death Eaters about the castle, but there still may be some hexed objects or unstable staircases. We haven't had the chance to check everything yet."

"I'll be quick," Molly promised, putting on the dressing gown that lay at the foot of the bed, and placing her wand, the very wand that just two days before had killed one of the most evil and powerful witches the world had ever seen, in her pocket. "If Arthur comes back, tell him I popped down to the old Prefects Bathroom to freshen up a bit. Giving birth under a pile of broken down rubble takes a lot out of one."

Minerva was still laughing as Molly left the room.


	17. Reflections with George

Molly slowly made her way down the stone corridors of her former school, marveling at how untouched many of them seemed, despite the horrors that had taken place a mere 48 hours before. The staircases were still damaged, though, and many of them crumbled and unmoving, so it took longer than usual to get to the library corridor, where Minerva had spoken of.

She knocked softly on the door McGonagall had directed her to and carefully stepped inside the dimly lit room, her now-sleeping babies in tow. Quickly casting a Protego over them lest something upset the balance of the pram, she steered them into a quiet corner where they would not disturb nor be disturbed, and turned her gaze to her son.

"George?" she called gently.

He was sitting on the floor at the far end of the cluttered and forgotten classroom, gangly legs splayed out in front of him, hands braced behind his back. Across from him was a looking glass, a full-length, ornate, gilt and mahogany-edged, delicately carved mirror that looked decades, even centuries old. Inscribed across the topmost edge of the glass were the words of a mysterious tongue: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

"George?" she ventured again.

"Please go away," he muttered, still gazing up into the mysterious mirror.

"You know I can't do that," Molly replied gently. "What are you looking at?"

When he did not answer, she turned her attention to the mirror, gasping at the reflection she saw. Staring back at her was not the exhausted, bedraggled woman she knew she looked like, the woman who in the previous two days had been through hell and returned to tell the tale. Instead, she saw herself, a youthful, well-rested, unharried version, standing proudly with her family surrounding her, all of them equally well-dressed and happy. There was Arthur, strong and handsome, one arm tightly around her shoulder, the other holding a copper-topped boy of 4 or so to match the little girl of similar age she held in her own arms. They were flanked on either side by Bill and Charlie, who stood just behind them with Fleur and a silvery-blonde haired baby girl with the Weasley blue eyes and another unnamed woman, whom Molly recognized immediately as Charlie's wife, though how she came to that conclusion, being that Charlie was single, she didn't know. Percy was there, too, grinning proudly among his family. Next to Molly stood Ginny, for the first time looking grown-up to Molly, with Harry standing right behind, his hands clutching hers, and a glinting engagement ring twinkled on her finger. At Arthur's side were Ron and Hermione, wearing matching gold wedding bands, standing in a similar pose, though Hermione's stomach curved with the gentle swell of pregnancy. Sitting cross-legged at the bottom of this family portrait were her elder twins, George, and—_oh, Merlin_—Fred, laughing at some unseen joke, and all of a sudden, one or the other threw a firework into the air, howling as the rest of the family scattered.

"Fred," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

"You see him, too?" George asked quietly.

"Merlin's beard, George," she muttered, still transfixed by the image before her. "What is this thing?"

Finally, George spoke.

"Mirror of Erised. Harry told me about it. Said he thought I might need a chance to reflect."

For once, he didn't laugh at his own pun.

"Erised?" Molly asked, confused.

"Look at the inscription," he sighed in reply. "Try and read it backwards."

"_I show—not—your face—but your heart's—desire_," she read haltingly, then nodded in recognition. "Oh."

Molly sat down beside him.

"You see him, too, don't you?" she softly asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, and suddenly, the dam broke, and for the first time since he was six years old, he sobbed. Molly took him into her arms as best she could and cradled his head on her shoulder, rocking him back and forth, letting him pour his heart out until his tears ran dry and he returned his gaze to the mirror.

"Tell me the picture," she said, stroking his hair, the way she used to do when he and Fred were children who came to her with great imagined stories they'd dreamt up.

He breathed deeply, clutching at the sleeve of her dressing gown like a small frightened child, and began to speak in a small voice.

"It's just us," he said. "Nothing special, no fancy tricks. Just Fred and I, arms around each other. He's looking at me, smiling. No laughing, no joking. Just next to me. Just smiling."

George lifted his head to her.

"He's gone, Mum. Half of me is gone."

Molly's heart jolted with pain at his statement.

"Oh, Georgie…"

She knew there was nothing she could say that could assuage his pain. In so many ways, he was right. From the day he was born, it had never been just Fred or just George. It was always "Fred and George" or "the twins" or even, "you two". They'd grown up identical, inseparable, and it had seemed only natural that they formed their own unique little co-dependent bond, leaning heavily on each other for everything life threw at them. Now, though, with Fred no longer by his side…

"I wish they'd have killed me, too."

His mother whipped back around to him, her face gravely serious. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that, George. It's an insult to everything we fought for. Everything your brother fought for."

"Yeah?" he asked angrily, rising from the floor to stalk the room as he shouted. "It's an insult? You know what else is an insult, Mum? Never being more than fifty feet from your brother your entire life and the moment you are, he gets killed! Knowing that no matter how many pictures you look at, memories you have, stupid bloody enchanted mirrors you see his face in, he's never coming back! Living with the fact that for the rest of my life, whenever anyone looks at me, they'll be thinking about him!"

As he paced the floor of the dim classroom, he pulled his wand out, shooting a series of loud and destructive curses at empty desks, old books, chairs, anything he could think to aim at, punctuating each phrase in his diatribe with another blast. Molly looked on sadly as her tormented son vented the only way he knew how.

"Fred never did a damn thing to anyone his entire life and now he's dead! He's dead, Mum! He's dead!"

"I know!" Molly shrieked finally, unable to take anymore.

By now the noise had woken the two sleeping babies, who had since begun to wail their protests at the loud noise, and George turned so quickly toward them that for an instant Molly feared in his blind rage, he might inadvertently aim at them. It seemed, though, that their presence shocked him out of his frenzy, and, with a great sob, he dropped to his knees and began to cry.

"Why Fred, Mum?" George sobbed. "Why'd it have to be Fred?"

Molly rushed to him, kneeling next to him and began, once again, to rock him. This time, she, too, gave in to her tears, and though she'd cried often during the past 24 hours, this time, she knew, was with the one other person who might truly begin to fathom the nature of this loss. Arthur had lost a son, too, and her other children had lost a brother; she did not wish to rob them of their grief, for it was palpable, and would be felt for the rest of their lives. But no one else would ever know the feeling of Fred's heart as it pressed against them for nine long months, the deep, unspoken, intuitive bond and emotional connection that only a mother or twin could know and begin to understand.

"Why'd it have to be twins, Mum?" he wept into her shoulder. "Why'd you have to have twins the day I stopped being one?"

"Oh, George," Molly sighed, leaning back and taking his face in her hands.

"It's like everyone just forgot about him the minute those damn babies were born! Like you just… traded in the old, broken one for a new set of kids. You bloody-well even named one after him!"

"You know that's not true. I did that to honor Fred's memory, not replace him. You know that."

He looked at the ground and sighed, willing himself to calm. "I don't want to be mad, but… it hurts. It hurts so much."

"I know," she whispered, trying to find her voice. "Believe me, I know it does."

She paused.

"Did I ever tell you about the day you were born?"

He shook his head.

"It started off the most beautiful day," Molly recalled wistfully. "April Fool's Day. I'd just been to St Mungo's for a checkup. My healer told me everything was going according to schedule and that my babies were doing beautifully and I'd see them in about a month.

"When I got back, I found your father waiting in the living room for me. He looked like he'd been crying. Up until then, I'd never seen him do that. He took me aside, and he sat me down, and he, just…broke my heart. My brothers, Fabian and Gideon, had been attacked and killed by a band of Death Eaters."

Her voice began to break, but she paused a moment, steeling herself, and went on.

"The shock of it sent me into early labor. It was difficult, in every way it could be difficult. How could I be expected to bring new life into a world that had proven itself so cruel and had taken some of the people I loved most?"

She sighed.

"After you boys were born, I—I didn't want to see you."

George looked at her curiously.

"It was too painful. I felt helpless, and hurt, and so angry. I felt like I had somehow betrayed Gid and Fab's memories, had replaced them in some way, that I had no right to trumpet your lives when they had just lost theirs."

"Oh, Mum," George muttered quietly. "I didn't know."

She continued. "Your father changed my mind, though. He brought you two in, told me how ashamed my brothers would be of me if they saw how I was acting, and before I could argue, just placed you in my arms. And I looked down at you boys, my little double surprises, and I just… laughed. I laughed. I couldn't help it. You were so beautiful and it just seemed so fitting, somehow. Gideon and Fabian loved surprising me. You and Fred are—were—are just like them in that way. And the more I thought about it, the more I began to think that maybe this was the one last surprise they could give me. And maybe, wherever they were, this was their way of offering me comfort, and remind me to honor their lives, through their nephews, and not to let the pain of their deaths consume me. Don't you think that maybe Fred could be trying to tell you the same thing?"

He shrugged, still staring numbly.

She tried a different tack, putting the barest hint of a smile on her face. "Besides, if he came in now and saw you and I bawling over some dusty old mirror, he'd call us a pair of right wankers, wouldn't he?"

George whipped his head around to face her, shocked to hear this kind of language from his mother, and, after the disbelief had passed, burst out chuckling despite himself.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to feel, George," she said after a moment, reaching over to touch his cheek gently. "The pain we feel right now—it'll never go away. Fred's your brother. He's my son. But if you let it, it'll ease. I promise you that."

George stood up, offering a hand down to his mother, who took it as she struggled to rise, fatigue and age catching up with her for the moment. He took one more glance at Erised, but Molly stopped him.

"Don't," she murmured. "It's not true. It's not real."

"You're right," he nodded, turning towards it and drawing his wand.

Molly looked concerned. "George, what are you—"

"It's a lie," he replied, pointing his wand toward the mirror.

"Reducto!"

A sudden flash of light and the Mirror of Erised disintegrated before them.

George returned his gaze to his mother. "It taunts people. Makes them want what they can't have, won't have. I couldn't let it hurt people anymore."

She stood there, frozen a moment longer in her shock, then Molly gave a small smile.

"Don't spend all your life looking in mirrors, George. It may look like him, but Fred's not there. If you really want to see him—"

She touched his chest, right over his heart.

"—look in here."

Mother and son embraced, a peaceful sort of acceptance come to their mourning, and when they were done, George pulled back.

"What is it?" his mother asked.

"I want to meet my little brother and sister."

Molly smiled softly, ruffling his hair, and took him by the hand, leading him over to the babies and sitting him on an old classroom chair. He looked down into the pram shyly, before he broke out into a tentative grin, which in turn grew into a smile.

"So, you're the new ones, eh?" he asked, reaching in a hand to touch their tiny fingers and toes. "Not too shabby. I think we might have to keep ya."

"I'm glad you approve," Molly smirked and gently placed Dora in his arms, even as she sighed in relief just to hear her wounded son joke a little. "I can't imagine what we would have done if they'd been ugly."

George chuckled, slowly coming to a stop, then looked at her, pained. "We'll make sure they know him, won't we?"

"Oh, Darling, of course we will," replied Molly sitting next to him and holding Gideon, tears once again in her eyes. "Whether he's here or not, he's still part of this family. He always will be. Of course we'll make sure the babies know him."

She paused.

"I'd imagine he'd haunt us good if we didn't. Put Peeves to shame, he would, too."

Now, George laughed out loud, his eyes releasing a little of the hurt they previously held.

"Thanks, Mum."

"Actually," Molly began, "I'm going to need your help with that. No one knew Fred the way you did, not even me. You had a special bond, just like you'll have a special bond with Dora and Gid here. You know all of Fred's best stories, all the best pranks, all the best ways to get on your mother's nerves, everything. I'm going to count on you to make sure they know what it means to be a Weasley."

"I think I could handle that," George said quietly, a small grin sliding across his face.

"Well, good," she continued slowly, resting her head gently on his shoulder, looking down at her infant son, whose sister rested in George's arms, "because I needed to make sure that their godfather could handle all his godfatherly duties."

George was silent for a long time, and for a moment, Molly began to think he would refuse the honor. Finally, though, he spoke.

"Godfather, eh? Could be cool," he nodded, his face hard to read. "I'd have a lot more time to be a bad influence, wouldn't I?"

"You would," Molly agreed, her voice thick with emotion. "He would have liked that. He would have liked that a lot."

George nodded again slowly, before standing up, still holding tight to Dora with one hand, offering assistance to his mother with the other.

"Come on, then. Let's go tell everyone the news. Hopefully you've picked someone equally as charming and delightful for the godmother."

Molly gave another small smile, knowing that, though the immediate storm had passed, it would be a long haul before things even began to feel normal once again, and, like George's ill-fated ear, with Fred gone, there'd always be something missing.

"Of course," she replied, pursing her lips to try and keep a straight face. "I asked Professor McGonagall."

George paused mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. "Ugh, why did I even ask?"


	18. Late Night Visitor

That night, as the castle crept into the quiet peace of twilight, Molly settled down for the twins' evening feeding. Her visitors gone for the day, she had even managed to convince Arthur to leave his hospital cot vigil and go get a proper night's sleep up in the old Gryffindor dormitories with the rest of the family. She would be along in a day or so, Poppy had assured her, and after some arguments and the promise that would call him if there was anything wrong, he had gone. Now, her only companions were a few other sleeping patients (all recovering from the battle), Madame Pomfrey, who flitted silently from bed to bed, checking bandages and fevers and such, and her little ones who hadn't left her sight since she first awoke that morning and met them for the first time.

Gently placing Gideon, who had just finished feeding, in the self-rocking cradle Minerva had conjured her earlier that day, Molly picked up a sleepy Dora and held her to her breast to the lamplight danced over the high stone walls of the hospital wing, casting eerie shadows throughout the room, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, blocking out all other sounds except for the gentle gurgles and coos of her babies. This was her favorite part of having babies, the quiet intimate moments she shared with them, when all the world fell away for a few minutes' time, when she could sit and examine each little intricacy of their faces, imagine endless possibilities for them, when madness of the day was done and she was just theirs and they were just hers.

A few minutes later, her eyes still closed, she heard a new set of footsteps enter the room and a familiar voice began to speak.

"Hello, Madame Pomfrey. I was wondering if you might have any sleeping draught? The ones for, uh, dreamless sleep?"

There was a clinking of bottles from the storage cabinet. As she listened, Dora finished feeding, and, after covering up, Molly set about to rubbing his back, trying to gently coax out any gas bubbles.

"I'm afraid I'm all out at the moment," Poppy replied, "but if you'll just wait here, I know that I have some in my private quarters."

"Oh, uh, no, thank you, I couldn't. I don't want to put you out. It's alright, really."

Madame Pomfrey sighed, but continued kindly, without her usual brusqueness as she quickly left the room. "No protests, young man. It's the least I can do. Now, you stay here. I'll be back in two ticks."

Molly smiled to herself, and slowly opened one eye. "Come on over, Harry, and keep me some company."

"Mrs Weasley," Harry sighed back with a small smile, walking over and sitting in the chair beside the bed, and the two sat in a comfortable silence.

"Harry," she sighed, "I've known you for seven years. You've practically lived at my house at times. You're my children's best friend. I don't think anyone would protest if you called me Molly. God knows I'd prefer it."

He nodded, grinning. "Alright, Mrs We—Molly. So, how are you feeling?"

"As if I've had run-in with the Whomping Willow," Molly chuckled, gently rocking her daughter, "But, all things considered, it's completely worth it."

He smiled softly, looking at the baby in her arms. "I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier, but congratulations. They're brilliant."

"They are, aren't they," she agreed. "Would you like to hold one of them?"

She nodded toward Dora.

"Oh, uh, no," he sputtered, holding up his hands, "I can't. I—"

"Of course you can," insisted Molly, leaning forward and instructing him as she placed Dora in his arms.

"Now, hold out your arms—cradle the head—there we are."

He looked down, disbelieving, and then back up to Molly.

"Are—are you sure about this?"

"Relax," she chuckled. "You're a natural."

The tension slowly began to ease in his posture as he gazed back down at the baby, who stared back with eyes the rich brown of aged firewhiskey, and, like the libation, they warmed him.

"She's beautiful," he murmured. "She looks like you."

Molly grinned, watching the scene unfold. "Flatterer."

She paused.

"Besides, I've actually been thinking that she looks more like Ginny."

He didn't answer, but a blush came to his cheeks, and he handed Dora back to her mother, who placed her beside Gideon in the cradle.

"Have you spoken so her much since everything's been over and done with?" Molly asked. "She's been missed you for the better part of a year."

He blushed again, shaking his head. "It's been so long. So much has happened."

"Perhaps," shrugged Molly with a small smirk, "but you should at least talk to her about it. You never know. She might surprise you."

"Yeah, I guess," agreed Harry.

They fell into silence again.

"So…" she began finally, changing the subject, lest she embarrass him, "you're having trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah, a little," he admitted. "Some tough dreams."

Molly furrowed her brow.

"_Him_? V-V-Voldemort?"

She trembled as she said the name, still foreign and frightening to her tongue even as she knew of his death.

"No," he said quietly, refusing to look at her. "For the first time in years, no."

"Then what—" she began, but he cut her off.

"It's everything else. I just keep thinking about everyone. Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin… Fred. I can't stop thinking that it's my fault they're gone. That everyone who died… died because of me."

"Oh, Dear," Molly sighed, tears returning to her eyes. "You're so wrong. You mustn't think like that."

He shook his head. "If it weren't for me, your son would still be alive. If it weren't for me, Teddy Lupin would still have his parents. If it weren't for me—"

"I'd be dead," finished Molly. "We'd all be dead. You're a hero."

Harry frowned. "I hate that word. I'm not a hero. I just did what I was supposed to do, and not even all that much of it at that. Everyone helped. Ron, Hermione, Neville, you. Some of you even gave your lives for it. Much more than I did. None of you had to do anything, but you did it anyway, even when it put your lives at risk."

"That's what family does," Molly answered simply.

"But—"

"Come here," she gestured, patting the bed beside her.

Harry obliged, gently sitting next to her on the cot.

Molly smiled sadly, taking his face in her hands. "I meant what I said earlier, Harry. About you being one of my sons. We all feel that way, not just me. You're loved, Harry. You don't always realize that, but you are loved. Not because you're 'the boy who lived' or the most famous wizard in our world since Merlin himself, but because you're you. Loyal, selfless, thoughtful, generous. Unfailingly kind and uncommonly brave. I'm proud to call you my son, if not by blood than by choice. I love you, Harry."

She would have said more, but before she could, Harry had thrown his arms around her, hugging her tight enough to rival one of the embraces she was famous for. As he held her, she felt soft sobs begin to shake him. For the first time in a long while, Harry Potter began to cry, really cry. Everything he'd held in for years, the pain, the anger, the emptiness, everything, in fact, that festered within the piece of Voldemort's soul that until a few days ago had lived within him, released in a powerful flood of tears. Finally, after a long while, during which Molly rocked him and offered soothing whispers as she'd done for her own children for years, he calmed, and pulled back, wiping his face.

An awkward silence fell between them.

"I know you've got a lot to sort through and deal with," Molly said finally, squeezing his hand, "but you don't have to do it alone. Let us help you."

Harry nodded, smiling softly and rising from the cot.

"Well, it's getting late. I should probably be getting up to bed. I told everyone I'd be gone just a couple minutes."

He bent down, kissing her on the cheek and making her blush, before making his way toward the doorway.

"Wait," Molly called softly. "You're forgetting your sleeping draught. Poppy'll be back any second now."

Harry grinned. "I'm actually feeling a lot better. I don't think I'll need it after all."

"Good," smiled Molly, "Goodnight, Love."

"Goodnight, Molly," Harry replied with confidence, "I love you, too."


	19. Hello, Young Lovers

_**So sorry about the delay in posting. I had intended to end the story a few chapters ago, but it didn't seem like the right spot to do so. I'm trying to draw things out, bring them to a natural stopping point, and have been having some difficulties getting my ideas on paper coherently, lol. Here's the newest chapter, though, something a bit lighter than the previous few. I don't know how many more I'll have, but have some ideas for different one-shots or possibly a sequel. Please keep reading and reviewing. I'm not finished yet.**_

Within a few days, Molly and the babies had been released from the Hospital Wing and allowed to join her family in their temporary rooms in the Gryffindor tower, where they'd be staying in the coming days as they aided in the rebuilding of the castle and the preparations for the funeral and memorial service for the fallen.

And so one evening, Molly sat on the sofa in her old common room, surrounded by family and the cozy warmth of a roaring fire. Harry and Ron sat at a table under the window, playing and frowning over a game of Wizard's Chess. Hermione and Ginny sat on a blanket-and-pillow covered patch of floor with Gideon and Dora, giggling and talking to the little ones in baby-talk, ignoring the eye-rolls and mockery from the boys. Percy had retired early, his worry at being out of the job at the Ministry beginning to set in. Bill and Fleur were out by the lake, taking a lover's stroll. George had popped down to Hogsmeade for a pint, still needing some time to himself, but whenever she looked at him, Molly knew he would pull through. Arthur, for his part, had come across a stack of old yearbooks, and he and Molly had curled up together to look through them, reminded of old, more innocent, times.

"Remember Julie?" Molly chuckled, pointing at a little brunette girl grinning up from one of the pictures. "She was Muggle-born? Remember she used to go around singing those Muggle songs all the time? What was that band she was always talking about?"

Arthur laughed. "The Beatles. She would let me listen to the records sometimes. They weren't that bad, actually. She was always the funny one, though. She used to do the funniest impersonation of McGonagall."

Molly laughed. "She used to do that up in the dormitory all the time. I don't think she really liked me though."

"Oh? Why not?"

"She fancied you," chuckled Molly. "But who could resist?"

Arthur blushed up over his ears.

"Look at Rupert Hedges," he grinned, pointing to another picture. "All that hair. I saw him yesterday, when some of the volunteers came in from Hogsmeade to fix the south wall. Completely bald now."

"It was a long time ago," replied Molly. "He was young then."

"We all were," smiled Arthur, looking around the room. "God, this place brings back memories."

"It does, doesn't it," Molly answered, snuggling into his chest. "You know, this is the only place other than the Burrow that I've ever felt truly at home."

Just then, one of the babies began to cry, followed soon after by the other. Before they could react, Hermione and Ginny had scooped up the wailing pair and deposited them into the arms of their parents, who began to soothe them.

"Gee, 'Mione, how maternal," Ron laughed, rolling his eyes as he moved his bishop to put Harry's King in check.

"Oh, shut up, Ronald," she replied tartly, but Molly noticed how she smiled as she said it.

"Ooh, Harry, you're in trouble," said Ginny, ignoring the other pair, as she walked over and plopped herself on Harry's knee so she could play the next turn for him.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," Harry blushed, his eyes darting guiltily toward Arthur and Molly, who pretended not to pay attention, even as they exchanged knowing glances.

Hermione leaned over the table, sounding annoyed. "Are you boys going to play chess all evening?"

"Well, what else are we going to do?" Ron asked, not turning his attention from the board. "You're usually three hours' deep in a book this time of night."

"I thought we could take a walk," she replied, hinting at him. "Go up to the Divination Tower. It's got a pretty view this time of night and I was talking to Professor Trelawney today and she said she had some textbooks I could borrow so I could get a jumpstart on my NEWTS next year when I come back."

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, still clueless. "You hate Divination! You said yourself Trelawney was a crackpot and a—"

She elbowed him hard in the ribs, and finally he seemed to take the hint.

"Oh—oh— Divination. I thought you said… whatever. Uh, yeah, um, sure. Let's go, then."

He blushed, his face beginning to turn the same shade of red as his hair as he grabbed Hermione's hand and led her quickly toward the Common Room door, both of them looking red-faced and embarrassed.

"Harry, let's call it a draw," he called over his shoulder as they heard the portrait open and begin to swing shut. "We won't be back too late, Mum! Don't wait up, though, okay?"

"What's that all about?" Ginny hissed at Harry, taking Ron's place at the table and resetting the chessboard for a new game.

"Well, they had quite a snog in the middle of the battle," Harry replied conspiratorially, trying to keep the other Weasleys from hearing, "and I don't think they've really stopped since."

"No!" Ginny gasped. "Hermione hasn't said a thing!"

"Neither has Ron," answered Harry, "But it was bound to happen sooner or later. They've been fighting it since we were 14, for God's sake."

The two continued to giggle and banter back and forth, unaware that they were being overheard. Molly and Arthur looked at each other and sighed, bemused.

"Should one of us go after them?" he asked quietly over the decreasing whimpers of Gideon. "Make sure they don't get into any mischief?"

"Arthur," Molly replied, "they lived together in a tent for nine months with Harry as their only chaperone. If they were going to do something, it would have happened already. They're both of age, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Besides," she whispered, "you know how shy Ron is when it comes to things like this. It's taken him years to admit he has feelings for her. Let them be."

At that moment, they heard a delighted shriek from the chess table, which caused a renewal of wailing from the formerly-quieted twins.

"Honestly, Ginny," Molly sighed, squeezing her eyes shut against the cry.

"Oops," Ginny giggled, standing up, "Sorry, Mum. I was just celebrating. Apparently, all the horcrux hunting and dueling dark wizards hasn't improved Harry's chess game."

"Oh, shut it," Harry smirked with a laugh, tugging on her hair jokingly. "You didn't win by all that much."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. Smiling, he draped an arm across her shoulders, an act that didn't go unnoticed by Molly, with whom exchanged a gentle nod. Squirming out before anyone noticed, Ginny feigned a yawn.

"Well, uh, I guess it's time for me to head up to bed," she said, a blushing grin creeping over her cheeks as she slowly crept towards the stairs. "Goodnight, Mum, Dad."

"Goodnight, Love," Molly replied, pretending not to be paying attention.

Arthur, still trying, without success, to sooth his newest son, didn't reply, instead managing a one-armed wave to bid Ginny good evening.

Ginny glanced at Harry once more before climbing the stairs and passing from sight. Harry, for his part, stayed behind a few minutes more, cleaning up and putting away the chess set, and, Molly noted with barely concealed amusement, attempted to smooth out his hair and straighten his rumpled clothes. Finally, he, too, rose, and gave a slightly theatrical-sounding yawn.

"I suppose I should be getting to bed, too," he sighed. "We've got another long day tomorrow."

"Too right, my boy," Arthur replied, whispering loudly, doing his best not to wake the once-again sleeping babies. "Have a good night."

"You, too, Arthur," grinned Harry, leaning over to shake his hand.

"Goodnight, Mrs W—Molly," he added, giving her a kiss on the cheek and heading up the the stairs.

"Goodnight, Harry, Dear," she called after him, beaming. "Sleep well."

A moment later, once sure Harry was out of earshot, Molly turned to her husband, a small smirk on her face.

"And you were all worried about Ron and Hermione."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, confused, laying Gideon in the portable cradle that had been set up next to the couch.

"They're the ones you should be watching out for, you know," she chuckled, doing the same with Dora.

"Oh, please," Arthur rolled his eyes. "Harry? He's a nice young man. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I know that," replied Molly. "I was referring to your daughter."

Arthur's voice raised slightly. "Ginny? Our little girl? Are you serious?"

Molly smiled, touching a gentle hand to his arm to calm him. "She's sixteen years old, Arthur. Almost of age."

"That doesn't mean she—"

"And, she's her mother's daughter," Molly interrupted.

Arthur looked positively nauseated. "You're not saying she—"

"Oh, Merlin, no," Molly replied quickly, offering a nervous giggle. "I just meant that you shouldn't forget that Ginny's only a little younger than Ron, and equally, if not more, mature. We'll speak with her when the time is right. We'll speak to all of them."

"Well…"

"Arthur, relax," Molly laughed. "I'm sorry I even said anything. I just thought it was cute. I'm surprised you hadn't recognized it before. You have nothing to worry about, I promise."

He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

She kissed him on the cheek, her eyes twinkling. "Positive."

"Then why would they rush up to bed like that?"

"You want the honest truth?" Molly asked, slightly exasperated. "At the most, they're probably sitting at the landing between the boys' and girls' staircases, having a bit of a snog. That's all."

Now, he began to look mutinous. "They're what? How do you know? Do you have a Supersensory Charm on them or something?"

"Oh, Arthur, you may be sweet, but you're so clueless sometimes," she giggled, stroking his cheek with her hand, calming him. "I don't need a Supersensory Charm. It's called Mother's Intuition. Besides, anyone with a lick of sense could have told you the same thing."

When he didn't respond, she continued.

"Don't you remember when you were a Prefect? Where was the biggest Gryffindor snog spot? And I may be mistaken, Mr Weasley, but if I recall, you and a certain Miss Prewitt made use of said spot occasionally yourselves."

Arthur softened a little, a half-smile coming to his face at the memory. "Yeah, that's true."

"And do you remember why that spot was so popular?" Molly asked softly.

Arthur nodded in understanding. "Because you can't get past the girls' staircase."

"That's right."

"And believe me, how I tried," he added a moment later. "Wait. What about the boys' rooms? There's no wards over them."

"No," conceded Molly, "but Percy's there. Not to mention Ron, when he gets back from his… walk. And I don't think either of them would take too kindly to anyone, even Harry Potter, taking advantage of their little sister."

Arthur still looked unconvinced. Sighing, Molly took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, Artiebear. It's getting late. We should get to bed ourselves. Can you get the cradle?"

"I suppose," he sighed. "So, where are we sleeping tonight? I hope you're not planning to keep us dormitory-style, boys and girls, when I finally have my wife back."

"Oh, no," grinned Molly mischievously, "and I was hoping you'd ask. Now, tell me, in your entire career at Hogwarts, where was the one place you imagined getting to go to, but were never able?"

"That's easy," Arthur replied, smirking. "The girls' shower room."

"Cheeky beggar," she giggled in reply. "How about the Head Girl's room?"

"You didn't."

She grinned. "I asked Minerva this morning. She gave me the password and had all the wards taken down."

"Mollywobbles…" he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling.

"What a coincidence. You already know the password," Molly giggled, rising and slowly heading for the staircase. "Now, I know we are somewhat… restricted, considering recent events—"

She nodded towards the babies and touched her still tender ribs.

"—but, I'm sure we can find something to keep us occupied."

Arthur stood, smiling, taking hold of the port-a-cradle. "As long as I can hold you in my arms and feel your heart against mine, I don't need anything else."


	20. Goodbye, Old Friends

Finally, the day of the funeral came. Of the fifty or so fallen, most had been claimed by friends and loved ones, and given the option to be taken back to their various homes for burial. The rest were to be interred in a small cemetery on a quiet patch of the lake's shoreline, where the fading warmth of sunset would forever kiss the cool headstones (carved by Hagrid himself) of those buried there, only a few hundred yards from Dumbledore's own tomb. Among those to be buried at Hogwarts were the Lupins; Colin Creevey, who, sadly, had no loved ones to claim him, to mourn him, his entire family having been killed by snatchers earlier in the year; and Fred. Though the Weasleys had their family plot back at the Burrow, they felt it only right to lay their son to rest in a place he fought so valiantly for, loved so much, where he was already, to many members of the student body and faculty (both past and present), a legend.

Although it was raining outside, as if nature itself wept for the losses, the Enchanted Ceiling of the Great Hall was the perfect pale blue of a spring morning, a soft rainbow painting the corner with streaks of color. The house tables had been replaced with row after row of chairs, and the colorful house banners had been transfigured a stoic, mournful black. Up at the dais, where the Hogwarts staff normally sat for meals, sat several coffins, in front of each a life-size portrait of the witch or wizard it held, and each was draped in bunting bearing his or her house colors. After the ceremony, the portraits would be moved to places of honor around the castle, memorializing the brave who gave the ultimate sacrifice to their school. The only familiar thing, it seemed, was the Headmaster's podium, with its great gilded owl staring down the crowd of mourners.

And a large crowd it was, too. Most of the wizarding world, it seemed, was there, among them the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as several previously high-ranking Ministry officials who had not been lost to the corruption and infiltration of its previous administrations. Several foreign delegations were also in attendance, the previous weeks' events having reached international acclaim, and wizards from America and Canada, Spain and France, Germany and Australia sat stoically, paying their respects on behalf of their countries and governments. The Daily Prophet was on hand, too, but even their usual zeal for ruthlessly snapping photographs was subdued, no doubt strongly warned by both McGonagall and Kingsley, two people, they had learned, should not be reckoned with.

There were familiar faces as well. Hundreds of Hogwarts alumni filled the chairs, along with most of the villagers of Hogsmeade and other local wizarding communities. The first few rows, however, were reserved for family and friends, among them Neville and his grandmother, Luna and a newly-freed Xenophilius Lovegood, Hagrid, and, of course, Andromeda Tonks with her grandson, little Teddy. The Weasleys took up the first row all to themselves, Charlie, Fleur and Bill, then Percy, Arthur, Molly, who held little Gideon, her face grayish and lost-looking, clutching him like a little girl holds a doll baby for comfort. Next to her stood George, who had in his arms Dora, and had, in the previous das, focused much of his attention on his little siblings, and Molly had often found him talking to them, playing with them, doting on them early in the morning, taking his Godfather duties very seriously, and behaving as though he were trying to recapture a semblance of the special bond he once had with Fred.

Next to George was Hermione, who kept her eyes downcast, not daring to look at the portraits at the front of the room, for fear they'd cause her to burst into tears, at the ready on one side to help George with his little sister, squeezing Ron's arm in comfort at the other side. Ron was stiff, unblinking, stoic, so unlike him, Molly thought, as he was her sensitive boy, accustomed to wearing his hear on his sleeve. After Ron was Ginny, whose normally tough exterior, cultivated from years of getting teased by a pack of older brothers, had crumbled, and silent tears streamed down her freckled cheeks, even as she clutched at Harry, who stood by her side, shouldering her, his face drawn, stony, sorrowful at the loss of his friends, brought back to a state of shock that the ordeal of the past several years was now over.

Finally, when everyone had assembled, Kingsley stood and strode with purpose toward the podium. Clearing his throat and placing a pair of spectacles at the end of his nose, he began to speak.

"We, in this quiet corner of the world, have suffered the loss of friends very dear to us, all of them very close, not only to our hearts, but to this school as well. Among them: Colin Creevey, sixth year student, proud Gryffindor; Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Tonks to all of us, brave members of the Order of the Phoenix, who leave behind a son not quite three weeks old; and our hearts go out in sympathy to the Weasley family, who feel the cruel loss of a son and twin who did not live to meet his two youngest siblings, born scarcely hours after his death. The homes of many of us have been destroyed, and the lives of young and old have been taken. There is scarcely a household that hasn't been struck to the heart. And why? Surely you must have asked yourself this question. Why in all conscience should these have been the ones to suffer? Children, newlyweds, a young man at the prime of his life. Why these? Why should they have been sacrificed? What we have gone through these past several years was not just a fight of blood purity. It was a war of the wizarding world, of everyone who has ever held a wand, and was fought, not only on the battlefield, but in the cities and in the villages, from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, from Godric's Hollow to Diagon Alley, in the homes and hearts of every wizard and witch who loves freedom! Well, we may bury our dead, but we shall not forget them. Instead they will inspire us with an unbreakable determination to prevail, to live. If we can do that, they will not have died in vain. What we witnessed and participated in one week ago was not just the end of a war, it marks the end of an era of fear, of hate, of evil. The peace that now is spreading across our world, we owe, in part, to them—"

He gestured to the portraits of the dead.

"They overcame worry, fright, and devoted themselves to the cause, sacrificed themselves for it, and for us. And to them, I say, we are eternally grateful. The words we speak today will be forgotten, the people whom we honor will not. Their dedication and devotion to their school and family and friends and the cause of equality and rightness will be remembered for centuries to come. I only hope that you once you leave here, you will hold these brave souls in your hearts. I know I will."

Kingsley removed his glasses and lowered his head, nodding one last moment of respect to those lost, and then turned to leave the podium. Before he got two steps, a thunder of applause ripped through the mourning crowd, drowning out every other sound, and a thousand people jumped to their feet in honor of the beautiful speech.

As the crowd quieted, subdued once again, the individual eulogies started.

McGonagall got up to speak for Colin Creevey, and though he did not have family there, her speech was moving and poignant and recited with as much genuine affection as if she were his own grandmother. For Tonks and Lupin, Harry and Ginny were elected as speakers, first Ginny reading a eulogy penned by Tonks' mother, Andromeda, that she herself was too emotional to recite, then Harry going on to memorialize his favorite teacher, Mooney, the last of the great Marauders, and one of his late father's best friends. By the time they and the other speakers had finished, there was nary a dry eye in the room.

Now, it was George's turn. Though the past several days had been hard on him, especially, and Molly had, more than once, caught him glancing in the mirror or passing things in the castle that reminded him of Fred and his eyes welling up in tears. Despite all this, he had insisted that he was able to do the eulogy, and refused all help or offers to the contrary. Gently handing Dora to Hermione's waiting arms, he gave his mother's hand a gentle squeeze, and walked, slowly but determinedly to the front of the room.

"How the bloody-hell am I supposed to follow all of that?" George chuckled nervously, stepping to the podium. Though normally, she would have been scandalized, even Molly had to smile a little, and nodded encouragingly to her son.

"Fred Weasley was my brother," George began, looking toward the life-size portrait that stood next to him, waving its arm and grinning devilishly. "My best friend, my other half, and, as I and dozens of girls can attest, the Ugly One."

A chuckle washed through the sea of mourners as Fred's image turned and served up a rude gesture.

"Even though there were two of us, and we were identical, Fred was always one-of-a-kind. More than anyone else, he always knew how to make me laugh, how to make me cry, how to make me feel better when something was wrong, knew what made me tick. And I don't think that's because we were twins. Fred did that for everyone he cared about, everyone he loved. Like how it was Fred that taught me that whenever we teased Percy a bit too much for acting like a prat—"

He paused, grinning at Percy, who begrudgingly nodded, offering a small smile.

"—that we could always apologize with some fresh parchments or by sharpening his quills for him. Fred was the one who showed me how to gauge just how annoyed Professor McGonagall was by counting the times that little blue vein in her temple would pulse."

From the crowd, McGonagall rolled her eyes and smirked, even as chuckles and nods of recognition washed through the sea of people, many of whom had witnessed this phenomenon from their former teacher.

"Fred showed me that, no matter how mad we made Dad, a package of Muggle fuses would make him temporarily forget."

Arthur smiled sadly.

"Two packs, and he'd let us off the hook and not tell Mum."

"And it's because of Fred," George continued, looking straight at Molly, "that I know how lucky I am. He may not have always said it out loud, but Fred was always grateful for everything we had, be it our home, our education, our business, but most of all, you, our friends and family. Fred and I always used to think we were from a family of nine, that it was the seven of us kids plus Mum and Dad. I'll never forget how excited he was when he found out there'd be two more of us coming along. And it hurts so much that he never got to meet Gid and Dora, because even at a week old, they'd already have him wrapped around their little fingers. Fred loved family, loved the craziness and warmth and affection that all of us had for each other. 'Family's the only thing that lasts. They make you richer, galleons or no', he used to say. 'The bright spot when the world looks darkest.' I used to think he was talking about the red hair. Now I see what he meant. With all that we've all gone through, all we've lost, all we've given up with everything that's happened, we've gained each other. Through the fight and the struggles, we've bonded, become like family. All of you teachers, you've been our parents when they haven't been around. Former classmates have become like cousins. I consider Hermione Granger a sister to me, and I know Fred felt the same. Harry Potter is like my kid brother… the kind that snogs my sister, but a brother nonetheless."

Harry blushed, even as everyone else seemed to manage a few snickers through tearful sniffles.

"That's what Fred loved," George continued. "That's what he fought for. Joy. Love. Family. And even though I know he's not here anymore to plot pranks with or give the punchline to another one of my dumb jokes, he's somewhere laughing along with us, and probably trying to think of a way to top us once we shuffle off this mortal coil and join him. And so, I'd like to say goodbye to my brother and best friend the only way I can think that's fitting. We love you, Fred."

With that, he raised his wand in the air and shot from it a single firework, nothing quite as destructive as the usual Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, but beautiful and surprising nonetheless, taking the form of a red and gold set of initials, FW, which shimmered and then burst over the crowd, the sparkling embers rising up and out the still broken windows of the Great Hall. The mourners eyes, still streaked with tears, glinted against the color, as George slowly slunk back to his seat, mercifully unnoticed.

Gently taking Dora back from Hermione, he turned to his mother, who trembled tearfully, a mix of pride and sorrow etched into the fine lines of her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't say anything, please," he asked softly. "I got through it without crying. I don't want to cry anymore. He wouldn't have wanted us to cry anymore."

Molly nodded, forcing a small grin, and turned back toward her husband, gently wrapping her arm around his.

Leaning her head against his arm, she sighed, glancing up at the ever brightening sky of the Great Hall, and how the once gray skies of the real world outside the castle seemed to be getting lighter, too.

"Looks like it's going to be a lovely morning."

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding and wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"I suppose we'll be able to go home soon," Molly sighed. "Get these little ones a proper room, proper cribs."

Arthur nodded again. "It'll be nice. I love the Burrow in summertime."

"Me, too," replied Molly softly.

She paused, her eye catching the Tonks-Lupin portrait at the front of the room, half remembering a conversation she'd had months before. "Maybe we can take a trip somewhere. Like a holiday. All of us. It might be nice to get away for a while."

"Maybe," Arthur let out a long sigh. "A change of scenery could be good."

There was another long pause, but this time, it was Arthur who broke it.

"Mollywobbles," he muttered, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him, "Will things ever go back to normal?"

"No," she replied, shifting Gideon in her arms, "But we'll find a new normal."

"Oh."

She turned to him, her grin sad, but her eyes retaining a touch of the mirth and humor he first fell in love with. "And besides, Arthur, have you met our family? We weren't exactly that normal to begin with."

He chuckled softly. "I just meant, do you think we can get past it? Get over everything that's happened?"

"Of course we will," Molly replied simply, looking around her at the faces of her family, their varied forms of grief tempered with hope and fond memories ever since they heard George's speech. "We're Weasleys."

_**Alright, guys, we're nearing the end of this little tale. Only a bit more to go. A few notes on this chapter… Kingsley's speech is inspired by and themes have been drawn heavily from the vicar's speech at the end of an old, WWII era film called "Mrs Miniver" (which I highly recommend, by the way.) The original speech, which I believe can be found on the quotes section of Miniver's page on , takes place at the collective funeral of those in a small rural parish who had been killed by German bombings, bombings that had destroyed much of their village and church, and the tone reminded me a great deal of what the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts might have been like. Anyways… I really hope you like this chapter, and the story so far. Thank you all so much for reading.**_

_**PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!**_


	21. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

…NINETEEN YEARS LATER… KING'S CROSS STATION, LONDON…

"Mum, remind me why we had to come, again?" Dora Weasley groaned, blowing a deep red lock out of her face, exasperated. At nineteen, Dora had grown into a great beauty, a carbon copy of both her mother and older sister at that age, fair skin, lightly dusted with freckles across the bridge of her nose, hair the color of autumn leaves at sunset, the only difference the twinkling blue eyes she inherited from her father. "Dad didn't have to come!"

"Your father is running an entire Ministry Department!" Molly argued. "With so many wizards congregating in a Muggle train station, he's got a lot on his plate this time of year."

Gideon said nothing, as was his custom, as he was parked on a nearby bench, his nose buried in a book. Like all the other Weasleys, he, too, bore curls of red, though his were lighter, more ginger than Dora and Ginny's darker shades, and of all his brothers, he alone had inherited his mother's eyes, that perfect shade of warm brown that seemed to take in everything around him.

Between them, Molly sighed.

"Because I'm your mother and I said so," she replied simply. "Your little cousins are starting Hogwarts for the first time. We're family. We've got to come out and support them."

"I know all that," Dora rolled her eyes, "So it makes sense for you to be here, but, I mean, I've got work to do. Gid's got to study for his Healer's examinations. Couldn't you have just called us later or something to tell us about it?"

"Called you? On a _felly-tone_?" Molly asked, laughing. "You're as bad as your father, you know that? You know I don't like all those muggle contraptions. What ever happened to the old-fashioned Floo chat?"

Dora sighed again. "Oh, Merlin, Mum, honestly. Half the kids at Hogwarts had them, even when I was there. And not just the muggle-borns, either. It's a great idea. So much less dusty and sooty than sticking your head halfway up a chimney."

"I don't know what gets into you sometimes, honestly," sighed Molly, throwing up her hands in mock defeat. She turned to her son, who was still immersed in his book. "What about you? Are you going to start complaining now, too?"

Closing the book, he smiled at her genuinely. "Don't listen to her, Mum. She's just upset because she might be late for her date with Teddy."

At the mention of her fiancé, Teddy Lupin, her childhood sweetheart, whom she had been dating since their third year of school, and who had proposed marriage just a few months before, Dora blushed.

"Shut up, Gid."

Molly turned back to her son. "Are you sure I'm not being silly? If I am, just tell me. I'll let you go."

Dora began to open her mouth, but Gideon silenced her with a look, the only one besides her mother who had ever been able to do that.

"We wouldn't have missed it for the world," he grinned. "Family first. I can't wait until I get to send my own kids off to Hogwarts."

Molly grinned. Of all her children, Gideon had somehow become most like her. Ginny and Dora had inherited her temper, to be sure, and her commanding nature, but that, she supposed, was because they had grown up trying to assert themselves in a household full of brothers. Gideon, though, reminded her most of herself at that age.

Growing up, he had seemed almost a perfect mix of all his elder siblings. He played Quidditch as well as any Weasley, becoming Gryffindor's captain in his fifth year and leading the team to several Quidditch Cups. Like Bill and Percy before him, he was studious and a leader, becoming a Prefect and Head Boy, and had earned outstanding marks in his OWLs and NEWTs, particularly in his Care of Magical Creature courses, something passed on to him, it seemed, by his brother Charlie. Despite his hard work in the classroom and on the Quidditch pitch, he knew his way around a prank and had pulled quite a few over the years, egged on by George and, occasionally, Fred, whose portrait had found its way into the Gryffindor Common Room. It seemed, though, that being the youngest of such a large family, he had inherited Ron's insecurity, but, thanks to Dora's naturally outgoing nature, had gotten over it early in life.

As an adult, though, the "Molly" in him seemed to take hold. Though she knew all of her children loved family, Gid seemed to cling to it the most, draw the most strength from them, craved the times they were all able to get together. With his nephews and nieces, some of them only a few years younger than himself, he connected with them closely, and with the way he acted with the youngest ones, Molly knew he was born to be a father someday, the same way she had sensed so many years ago that she was meant to be a mother. Even his aspirations seemed to mirror her own at that age, as he was pursuing a career as a Healer with St Mungo's, to be finished his training before the year was out.

"So, how long is this going to take, anyway?" groaned Dora, pulling Molly out of her musings. "I've got to get back to work. I'm developing a line of chocolate birds that lay candy eggs. George wants a prototype for them by next week."

During her time at Hogwarts, Dora, like her brothers and previous twins before her, had become infamous for her many pranks, some of them even more outrageous than her predecessors, if possible. She made up for it, though, by a natural cleverness and, despite her lack of interest in academics, had maintained good grades all through school, no doubt prodded on by Auntie Min's frequent lectures and summons to her Headmistress Quarters. Up upon her graduation, had been recruited by George and business partner, Ron, to develop new products for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and eventually run the third shop they planned to open in Godric's Hollow.

Some of her more recent creations had included Rainbow Creams, inspired by Teddy's metamorphmagus status, allowed whoever ingested it to temporarily change their hair color and style at will. Other tricks included a line of products specifically for "of age" witches and wizards only, with cryptic and suggestive names like "Bosom Bonbons" and "Endow-mints", which improved (temporarily) exactly what their titles suggested. They had become bestsellers at the stores and frequently sold out, much to George's delight, Ron's embarrassment, and Molly's horror.

Molly chuckled as Dora chattered on about her newest ideas. She was so like Fred that sometimes, when the Burrow was crowded with family, and laughter at one or another of her pranks or jokes filled the crooked old walls of the house, it seemed as though Fred was still there, and for that Molly was thankful.

Catching her mother staring at her, Dora smirked. "Am I looking like him again, Mum?"

Molly laughed out loud, patting her daughter's cheek affectionately. "Every time you give me that cheeky grin, I feel like I'm staring right at him."

"Oi! You!" a voice called from across the crowded platform.

Molly and Dora turned to look. Recognizing his brother's voice, Gideon grinned, turning his attention back to his book.

"Yeah, you! The redhead!" George called, striding ahead of two children, who, while their hair did not bear the trademark Weasley ginger, shared the same dimples and mischievous twinkle in their clear blue eyes.

Dora laughed first as he reached them, putting her hands on her hips. "To which of us were you referring to, brother dear?"

"The pretty one," he replied, leaning down and stealing a quick peck of his mother's cheek, making Molly blush and giggle.

"Thank you, Dear", Molly replied, then immediately turned her attention to her grandchildren. "Hello, Darlings."

"Gran!" they replied in unison, parking their luggage carts and rushing for a crushing hug.

After a quick embrace, Molly stepped back. "Alright then, let me get a good look at you. I want to get a good picture in my mind before they ship you off back to school. My, Freddie, you look more like your father every day. And, Roxanne, dear, I swear you're more lovely each time I see you. You've got your mother's figure, thank goodness. Not like mine."

She chuckled.

"Oh, Mum," George and Dora rolled their eyes in unison, and for a moment, Molly was transported back decades to her first-born set of twins.

Gideon shook his head, exasperated. "You're being ridiculous, Mum. You're—"

"Beautiful," a voice behind her replied quietly. "You look beautiful."

"Harry."

Molly smiled, turning and finding herself face to face with Harry, his emerald eyes sparkling with love for the woman who had, over the past 26 years, become his mother. Even now, after all this time, she felt a tug at her heart whenever she saw him, and a surge of affection she reserved only for him. It was not that she loved Harry more than her blood children, but she couldn't help but feel that she still had to make up for his first eleven years of life without anyone to care for him, though the haunted paleness and timidity he had once held had long since dissolved as his mission had completed and he learned to truly be a part of a family.

They hugged each other tightly.

"Where's Ginny and the kids?" she asked, looking around for her daughter.

"Off at the station shop getting a few last minute sweets before they get on the train," Harry chuckled. "Al and Lily can't get enough Muggle candy and I promised James a can of pop since they don't have it at Hogwarts. Ron, Hermione, and the kids are probably with them. Gin and I saw them arguing in the parking garage over something or other. He probably tried to Charm another stop light to beat traffic."

Everyone laughed.

At that, Gideon closed his book and stood up. "I'll go meet them. I have some Chocolate Frog cards I've been saving for the kids and I don't want to forget to give them out. Roxy, Fred, wanna come with? I've been wanting to talk to you about your Quidditch schedule."

"Sure," they replied, following their Uncle Gideon, all three talking animatedly about the newest racing broom model and Ravenclaw's new captain.

"I'd better go floo Angelina real quick," George said suddenly. "She likes it when I call her before a match. She says my voice gives the Pride of Portree good luck before a match."

"Yeah, right," laughed Harry, clapping him on the back. "George Weasley can Charm the Beaters right off the Bludgers, he can."

George smirked, slowly walking away. "Thanks, Harry. It's nice to know a speck-y git like you understands that."

"Hey, Harry?" Dora asked, turning their eyes away from George's retreating figure. "Is, um, Teddy here yet?"

Her mother smiled knowingly, reminded of her own courtship and engagement decades before.

Harry grinned, pointing in the direction of archway entrance to 9 ¾. "He's waiting by benches over there. Go on, then."

Without another word, Dora sprinted off in the direction of her fiancé, her red curls bouncing around behind her.

"Were we ever that young?" Harry asked, smiling.

"What do you mean 'we'?" chuckled Molly. "I still remember teaching a certain skinny, frightened-looking little boy how to walk through the Muggle platform to catch this very train."

Harry blushed, something Molly could never fail to make him do, even when it wasn't her intent.

"Why, I remember coming home and starting right to work on a Christmas jumper for my son's new friend," she continued, grinning at the memory. "I had a feeling I'd be seeing a lot of you as the years went on."

"You knew that all so soon?" he asked.

"When you've been a parent as long as I have, Harry, you pick up some things," Molly replied. "Besides, when I saw that scared, lonely little boy, I knew that he needed a little kindness."

"You gave me much more than that," Harry smiled. "You gave me a family. A real family. You let me in."

"That wasn't me," replied Molly. "That was fate. Our family wouldn't have been complete without you. Just as much as if we didn't have Hermione or Gideon or Percy, or any of them. You were meant to be a part of our family, Harry."

He hugged her again, even more fiercely, and the two shared a comfortable silence, each silently thanking one another for the years of love, of sacrifice, of joy they had given each other through the years, the innocent times, the horrors of war that had nearly town the family asunder, and the lasting peace that they had come to know more recently.

A growing cacophony of voices pulled them from their reverie.

"Looks like the troops are coming in," Harry chuckled, pointing behind her.

"And just in time, too," Molly smiled, turning to look. "I was about to start crying."

She turned to look.

All at once, everyone seemed to be converging. Hermione and Ginny were speaking quietly as they walked toward her, Ron still slightly sulking from his likely dressing-down courtesy of his wife. George, it seemed, had found Bill, Fleur, and their brood, and it looked like he was trying to surreptitiously slip some of his Weasley products into their pockets, whispering prank ideas into Louis' ear, as Dominique giggled and Victoire, already wearing her Head Girl badge, looked on disapprovingly. The little ones, Lily and Rose, Hugo, Al and James, were gathered in a cluster around their Uncle Gideon, as he relived another one of his exciting stories about his Hogwarts days, somehow more interesting to them than the old war stories Harry and Ron had told them over the years. Trailing along behind them were Percy and his wife, his two daughters Lucy and little Molly, walking toward them primly, both of them taking after their father and his long-held sense of order and sensibility. From the corner of her eye, Molly spotted Dora and Teddy, snogging against one of the archways, and, though public displays of affection were not something she generally approved of, she smiled at the young love.

Molly looked around, a sea of family in every direction. Family. Love. This is what gave her purpose, gave her life meaning. This is what she had fought so hard for, sacrificed so much for, all those years ago. And, despite it all, she'd do it all again in a heartbeat. A husband she was still madly in love with after all these years. Nine beautiful children she'd brought into the world, one of them but a memory now. Two more she considered her own, long since adopted into her wild clan. Daughters-and-Sons-in Law who made her children happy, complete, helped give her the twelve beautiful grandchildren (and counting!) of whom she was so proud. A godson, who, in a few months' time, would marry her youngest and officially become a part of the family.

Family.

Molly smiled, closing her eyes, content. All was right with the world.

_**So that's it. The end of Life in the Darkness. I want to thank everyone for all their kind reviews and support since I began this endeavor. I hope you've enjoyed it. I've got some ideas for some possible related stories, mostly about Dora, Gideon, and the intervening years, but it will be a while before I figure them out. In the meantime, I hope this all too brief epilogue sufficed, and I want to say, once more, thank you, Dear Readers!**_


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